


Aftereffects

by selfmanic



Series: Head Cannon - Clint Barton [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Young Avengers
Genre: Character Death, Deaf Clint Barton, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nosebleed, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape, Seizures, Sick Clint, Smart Clint, Snipers, Surgery, Torture, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 57,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfmanic/pseuds/selfmanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is dealing the the fall out from being bound to Loki and trying to get his life back together while working as an Avenger. Somehow none of them expected the full effect the tesseract would have on its bound minions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Release and Recovery

Clint suppressed a sigh and shuffled through the next packet of paperwork. When the other Avengers separated after sending Loki off world, he and Natasha went back to Shield. He had spent the last month having every part of his insides examined and cataloged while filling every form Shield could come up with.

The first week or two had not been that bad, Loki had not been a believer in sleep or food for his minions and after the battle he had been hard pressed to even pick at the shawarma Stark had thrown in front of all of them. By the time they kicked Loki off world the next morning he was running on fumes. He had been wrung out and punch drunk exhausted by the time they had gotten back to base and he was hustled straight to medical to pass out as soon as he was horizontal.

He spent the next week in a haze of exhaustion, interrogations, and medical tests as Shield tried to prove that Loki was out of his head once and for all. The second week was spent working with various security teams to make sure that no one else would ever be able to accomplish an attack to the helicarrier. He did not think he had ever talked this much.

The third week he was released from medical but confined to his quarters on base in New York, there was still too much bad blood with the helicarrier crew. There was only so much you could do to calm someone down after they had a fellow crew member shoot them. Twenty eight crew members died in the helicarrier attack, over one hundred were injured in some way, fifteen of those were still in serious condition or unlikely to recover enough to continue field work.

He was restricted from using the gym or range until he was completely cleared by psych. It did not help that all the others recruited with the spear had died soon after the portal was closed. Only Erik Selvig and himself had survived with no issues beyond exhaustion and the normal mental issues you have after a kidnapping in Dr. Selvig’s case.

Natasha was released in the first week and was already back on missions. He had all of his electronics taken away and was not allowed computer or phone access so he had no way of contacting her even if he wanted to. Coulson might have at least kept him up to date on things but he had been injured in the attack and was in some off base hospital recuperating after an experimental surgery to repair his heart.

He sat in his room and did push ups and sit ups until his body burned with the effort.  He had nothing else to do, the room was striped bare of his effects and he was only allowed basic gear and clothes, nothing else. He was amazed they had left him his hearing aids. Most of his possessions had been in the destroyed underground facility anyway with no chance of recovery, even his bike was buried there somewhere.

He was used to having few possessions and no place to call home but the constant need to be alert in a place that was supposed to be home was wearing on him. Anywhere he had to go he was escorted by two armed guards. The only places he was allowed to go to were to his psych meetings and to the interrogation rooms for the latest batch of questions. He was not on a suicide watch or anything but they would not allow him anything resembling a weapon. He ignored the fact that he could turn several of the “safe” items into weapons in less than a minute. Amazing how lethal a toothbrush could be when you were desperate.

He could not sleep. He worked his body past the point of exhaustion each day to wake up shuddering from nightmares after barely three hours of sleep each night. He could not eat, nothing tasted right. He ate his meals in his room or in an interrogation room between questions with cameras recording each breathe and bite. Shirts that had stretched tight across his shoulders hung loose.

His routine finally changed in the fourth week. He was sprawled in a chair ignoring the thin sandwich and bottle of water sitting on the table before him when the door opened with a bang. Clint was on his feet in a defensive stance before he had fully registered the form of Tony Stark whirling into the room in a burst of motion and raised voices.

“There you are, finally. Come on, you have a meeting with Fury we need to get to.”

“Sir, you are not allowed...” a random guard tried to step in only to be out blustered by Stark.

“Nope, he is coming with me.” Stark snapped, turning to Clint and pausing, “Christ Barton, have they been torturing you? What the hell?”

“Fuck off, Stark.” Clint snarled, he knew he looked bad. His head had ached nonstop for the last week, if things did not change soon he was going to go rogue just so he wouldn’t accidentally kill someone. Dark circles ringed his eyes and they only let him shave and shower every three days while supervised. Today was not a shower day.

“The Avengers are having a meeting with Fury, as you were part of the battle I am inviting you to attend. Now do you want to stay in the dungeon or are you going to take a break and come with?”

“Doubt that is really my choice, Stark.” Clint said with a harsh bark of laughter before folding himself back into the cold metal chair and waiting to see how this played out. Ten minutes later he was handcuffed and on his way to see Fury with Stark and his two bodyguards in tow.

Clint was shown to one of the larger conference rooms, handcuffs still in place. He snagged a chair in the back of the room ignoring Stark when he flopped into the chair next to him. The loud click of keys from Stark’s cell phone made his hands twitch to turn the volume down in his hearing aids. He forced himself to ignore the fifteen different ways he could remove the cuffs and the random gadgets he could steal from Stark’s pockets. It was like tossing a thief into candyland.

He ignored the guards taking places near the door and did not look up when Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner were shown in by Agent Phil Coulson. Coulson flicked a glance over the room before settling everyone in chairs and giving Clint a micro-frown.

“Barton.”

“Sir.” Coulson subsided back in his chair when Fury marched in and headed to the front of the room.

“Barton, if you are not out of those cuffs in ten seconds I am going to be very disappointed.” Fury rumbled, Clint gave a small twitch of a grin and tossed the open cuffs to slid across the table, stopping in front of Coulson who pocketed them.

“As part of the Avengers Initiative we collected the files of extraordinary abilities who we hoped would work together to save the world should it need saving. You stepped up to the task and became the Avengers.” Fury continued over Stark’s snort of amusement. “As such, we would like to make the group more permanent. Mr. Stark is offering each of you rooms at his tower. Shield is offering employment contracts as compensation for your time or you can chose to sign similar contracts with Stark Industries. Agent Coulson will act as your Shield Liaison for all missions and Shield related matters.” Coulson passed out bulky packets of paperwork.

“Agent Romanov will receive the same offer once she returns from her current mission. Agent Coulson will help explain the paperwork but I need an answer one way or another before you leave this room, gentlemen.” With a final glare Fury swept out of the room.

Coulson quickly outlined the options for Steve and Bruce with Stark chiming in with the advantages of signing up as his employee. Clint’s packet was much thinner than the others, he flipped through it while the others argued various points. He was being offered the option to work on a mission by mission basis for Shield while working as a Shield consultant for the Avengers or he could retire from Shield completely and only work as an Avenger under Stark enterprises.

If he stayed with Shield he kept Coulson as his handler unless the mission was out of the country, then he would be assigned another handler for the duration and handed back over to Coulson once he was back stateside. Considering Shield barely let him leave his rooms he doubted he would be doing any work for Shield anytime soon.

“Barton?” Coulson asked as Steve and Bruce left the room, the door softly clicking closed behind them. Stark was working on his cell phone on the otherside of the room.

“So the options are working for Shield and the Avengers or working for Stark. What’s behind door number three, jail?”

“If you wish to leave Shield you will be given a compensation package for your years of service. No one will stop you from leaving. You will not be tracked beyond the same surveillance everyone else is under.”

“Bullshit,” Clint barked harshly, his head pounded in time with his heartbeat. “You know that’s bullshit, Coulson.”

Clint glanced at Coulson’s bland face and Stark’s pointed disinterest before letting out a huff. His hands flowed as he signed out his questions in ASL, earning him a small smile from Coulson before he replied in kind.

_“If you are a member of the Avengers, the WSC cannot push for your removal or exclusion from the team. If you stay exclusively with Shield you will continue to be confined to quarters until the WSC investigation is completed. Your choice.”_

 

Ten minutes later with Tony blatantly fuming behind them attempting to record the hand signs with his phone Clint slapped the file on the table and signed on to do contract work with Shield and the Avengers.

“I have already submitted the paperwork to get you reimbursed for the possessions you lost in the blast.” Clint gave Coulson a quick nod of thanks.

“Do you know when they are going to unfreeze my accounts, sir?”

“I’ll make sure the paperwork is pushed through today. It should be released by the end of the week. Do you need anything from your rooms?”

Clint gave a small huff of laughter at that. “You’re looking at it. We going straight to the tower, sir?”

“Yes, Stark is giving everyone a tour of the available rooms. I’ll make sure a go bag is delivered for you.”

 

Clint merely nodded and followed behind Coulson as they made their way out of the building ignoring the glares and murmurs as they left the base. A short car ride later with Rogers, Banner, Coulson, and Stark, who talked the entire time outlining how amazing his place was, he was given a quick tour of the tower and what would be his floor.

“A floor?” he managed, glancing at the open floor plan and plush carpet and furniture already in place. At least Banner and Rogers looked as shell shocked as he felt when presented with theirs.

“Yep, each Avenger is getting their own. Let Jarvis know if you want to change anything, wall color, different couches, whatever.”

“Thanks.” Clint managed, his voice rough.

The room he had been staying in on base was smaller than the closets here. His old room on base, while bigger, was still smaller than the closet, as had been his rooms in the Army. He had lived in the back of a truck in the circus with four others. He had no idea what to do with this much room, maybe he could practice sword forms or something at night when he couldn't sleep. He could at least say the security was good, the main doors locked with biometric locks and the glass windows that wrapped an entire wall were bulletproof.

Once the tour was over he was left in his room to relax until dinner. He interrogated Jarvis for the next two hours on exactly how the AI scanned the rooms and provided security to the building. Jarvis was very tight lipped about the building security but did say that he would pass along Clint’s recommendations for improvement on to Stark’s security team.

He also informed Jarvis that he would be investigating the vents tomorrow so if he had any security in place he would need to know. Jarvis denied having security in the vents and they spent the next hour outlining how a ventilation system could be used as both a defensive and offensive platform in an attack. Natasha was sure to rig some kind of protection in the vents if she joined. The last job they had been on together for more than a few weeks meant that they had left mortar shells in the vents set to blow with trip wires.

He asked that his door locks be changed to require additional passcodes as well as the simple biometric scan, you never could be too paranoid living as a spy, even an AI monitored building owned by someone richer than God. Clint fingered the gun and three knives he had lifted on the way out of Shield offices. He knew Coulson was aware of the thefts but he could not go into a new location completely disarmed.

He sighed and rubbed at his temples, the ever present headache winding its way a notch tighter. Going to the kitchen he poured a glass of water from the faucet and sipped it while wandering the rest of the rooms. He would never use this much space, he thought with another sigh, maybe he could just live out of the closet. Draining the last of the water, he rinsed the glass and set it to dry on the counter. He still had another hour to kill until dinner. Settling on the floor next to the glass he watched the busy streets below letting his mind run through escape scenarios, just in case.

Five minutes before the proposed dinner time he splashed water on his face and headed down to the communal floor. After picking at the spicy indian dish he had been served and doing his best to fade into the woodwork he escaped before he could be talked into joining the others for a movie. He took the stairs back to his floor ignoring the elevator and the way his head was pounding.

After exercising until midnight he took a cold shower in the biggest bathroom he had ever seen, hoping the icy water would numb the aching muscles in his head and neck. He crawled into bed and sent a small prayer to any gods listening that they would allow him to sleep. Two hours later he was dressed and prowling the limits of his rooms. His dreams were still full of blue and grey, even the bodies bleed blue as he pulled and released each arrow.

At six am he gave up pretending to relax and made his way to the communal floor, snagging an apple and a bottle of water before picking up a book from the shelves along one wall. It was eight before the first person stumbled down for coffee and he had read two books. He grabbed another three books and slipped out to return to his floor. Half a thick biography and 500 pull ups later he was called down to join everyone for lunch. Coulson was waiting downstairs and tipped his head to a black bag set to one side, his go bag. Clint nodded and muttered a thanks to Steve for the sandwich, retreating to the balcony to eat. He waved off the offers to stay and talk, saying that he had to go unpack, hefting his bag and heading back upstairs.

The bag contained enough clothes for a week in Shield standard black, a pair of boots, standard back and thigh gun holsters, a shave kit and basic toiletries. A thin folder sat on top of everything with forms to register the gun he had lifted. The only thing missing were his weapons and armor, maybe that would be delivered later. He made a mental note to ask Coulson next time he saw him.

He paused inside his rooms taking in the changes. A new phone, stark tablet, and laptop sat on the desk along with forms for set up. The empty shelves had been partly filled with paperbacks in various genres. A sheet of paper on the bar in the kitchen listed the foods that had been stocked alongside a bowl of apples with instructions on how to alert Jarvis to any allergies or favorites that he wanted stocked. He was tempted to tell the AI that he was allergic to eating scorpions but probably most people reacted when you got stung on the cheek.

The bathroom and medicine cabinet had been stocked as well. He pulled out a bottle of tylenol and swallowed two dry hoping that it would help his head. Rolling his shoulders he quickly unpacked the bag and tidied the room, he had been living on base too long to leave anything out of place or messy.

That afternoon he scouted the vents using Jarvis to sketch out a quick diagram for the three floors he had explored and marking places that improvements, increased security, or traps could be laid as needed, mentally marking a few places that could work as nests if he needed them. The AI seemed to be enjoying the task at least and soon was projecting a general blueprint of the building so he could map out quadrants to scout and which areas he needed to avoid, mainly the vents around the labs and R&D floors since they could be hermetically sealed in the event of a biological contaminant spill.

At dinner he was pulled into a discussion of possible new arrows that Stark wanted to design. The range they had was a basic gun range but a more advanced one was being built in the sublevels of the basement to allow for greater distance. He pointed out that he still did not have a bow to test anything with so the range could wait for now.

 

“So Jarvis says you have been exploring the vents, care to share?”

“The most overlooked access point for any assassination, no one ever looks up.” he told Stark flatly, “If I had been given your tower as an assignment it’s how I would have gotten in. Might as well plug the holes while you have someone to test the gaps for you.” he said quickly dumping his plate and heading to the pool floor. Maybe a few hours doing laps and some time in the sauna would let him sleep tonight, he mused.

Four hours of sleep and one blue tinted dream later where the spear slid into his chest instead of just touching him he gave up on sleeping. He spent the rest of the night setting up his electronics. Accessing several external email accounts he had through various names he crossed his fingers that he would have some kind of job to do.

Sorting out the junk mail, he ran a few of the messages through decription files he had loaded on a thumb drive. The results were depressing. One message from Natasha with a burner phone number in case he needed to contact her for an emergency. He had a handful of contract work offers that he would need to run through Coulson, if Shield agreed with the terms he at least could get out of the tower for a while.

At five he slipped out of the tower and hit several of the equipment stashes he had in town. It at least got him some basic weaponry, a spare compound bow and quiver with basic broadheads, a long bow with armor piercing arrows, one sniper rifle, several knives and handguns, basic armor, gloves, and arm guards. It also netted several thousand in cash, spare civilian clothes, and passports and papers in various names should he need it. Not bad for a two hour trip through back alleys and warehouses. Settling on the floor in his rooms he laid out the weapons and began stripping everything down and waxing and oiling as needed.

At eight in the morning Jarvis interrupted him to remind him of breakfast being served downstairs, slowly bringing the lights on to full. With a sigh, he began putting everything away.

“I’ll be down in a bit, Jarvis.” he said softly, it still felt strange to be talking to thin air like it was a person but it was easier to consider Jarvis a fully sentient being just a machine that was housed somewhere in the basement. That such a well mannered helpful machine had been built by Stark just made it that much more surreal.

“Of course, Agent Barton, I will inform the others.”

After a quick shower he pulled on jeans, a grey henley and a purple hoodie he had always liked, dry swallowing several ibuprofen before he left his room. He had found his nagging headache did best if he alternated several different pain killers throughout the day. Today it was a mild pulse at the back of his head and ears making him reach to adjust his hearing aids in an attempt to relieve the ache.

“Hey, it’s alive!” Stark declared with a grin. “We’re having french toast if you want any. Nice threads by the way, when did you go shopping? Thought you’ve been holed up in your rooms non-stop since you got here.”

“I went out this morning.” Clint said snagging a cup of coffee and a banana, rubbing one ear to discretely adjust his hearing aid. “So...you have Jarvis spying on everyone then, tracking movements?”

“What? No, I just didn’t think you had went any where, yet.”

Clint gave a small hum of sound that could be taken as agreement. He ignored where everyone was crowded around the kitchen bar and leaned against the wall sipping his coffee. He made a slight face at the metallic taste, maybe Stark used a strange brand or something.

“You’re welcome to have a seat, Agent Barton. There’s plenty of room.” Steve said with a small smile gesturing to the five other chairs ringing the high bar.

“Clint.” He offered back taking a chair one down from the Captain and starting to peel his banana.

“Steve.” He shot back with another smile. Stark and Banner were talking science at the other end of the bar. Banner quickly offered his hand as well asking to be called Bruce. Steve finished his plate and speared two more pieces of french toast.

“Sure you don’t want one? I made way too much.” Steve said with a bit of a blush, it was strangely cute.

“Yeah, just one.” Clint conceded since it gave him an excuse to ditch the coffee that was making his stomache ache. Thirty minutes later he managed to excuse himself to go change in his rooms before a sparring match with Steve. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was throwing up everything.

Somehow he managed a decent spar with Steve both of them working up a sweat before he begged off to get cleaned up for lunch. Taking a long shower and getting dressed he grabbed a book to read while waiting on the others to arrive in the kitchen. Lunch was bowls of chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Clint managed to wave off the attempts to get him to eat a sandwich and stuck to the soup which thankfully stayed down, maybe he should switch to tea or juice in the mornings.


	2. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint does some training and talks to Jarvis.

***

 

Clint slid out of the tower one morning later that week and spent the day working on skills most people would never think to use, like pickpocketing a few dollars off of random people and giving the cash to the homeless or working on losing himself in a crowd, disappearing in plain sight and avoiding the random cameras that he came across. He slid silently through the city, not leaving a trace. In the process he also hit several used book stores and bought enough textbooks to keep him busy until he could talk to Coulson about taking some more classes. Living with genius level IQs was reinforcing just how much he still had to learn.

Growing up in the circus may have given him some crazy skills but it came at the price of a normal education and college. He had joined the army with a GED and a fake birth certificate. Shield however tested all their recruits within an inch of their lives. It was clear fairly quickly that while Clint was uneducated, the last thing he could be called was stupid. By the time he joined the Avengers he had what amounted to two master’s degrees in classes both from Shield and from several random colleges around the world. He took online classes when he could swing it but normally his schedule was just too crazy to manage a steady course load. He studied on his own and Coulson arranged for him to sit the exams for the classes he was interested in.

He slid into the underground parking garage, bypassing the stationed guards and cameras until he stepped from a shadow right next to the elevator and gave a nearby camera a mocking wave as he pressed the button.

“Good Afternoon, Agent Barton.”

“Hello, Jarvis. Everything good?”

“Yes, things are progressing as they should. Sir has asked me to tell you that he has a bet with the security team. If they do not catch you entering or leaving by the end of the week he will be scraping their scheduled rounds and implementing the changes you have recommended.” Clint snorted at that.

“Stark does know that me and Tasha break into places like this for a living, right? Even if he implements those changes we still would be able to get in unnoticed.”

“I believe he was impressed with the idea of lasers used in the elevator shafts to detect persons attempting to infiltrate the building.”

“Well, motion detectors won't work when there is that much constant vibration and movement.” Clint said with a shrug as the elevator dropped him off at his floor. “I’ll make a point to take a few extra trips out and about.”

Walking in he toed off his shoes and socks at the door, letting his feet sink into the ridiculously thick carpet. He was not sure even if he had Stark’s money that he would have been able to casually give it away like he did. Laying his used textbooks out on the carpet he slid into a split, opening one book to skim as he started slowly stretching.

“Agent Barton, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Jarvis.”

“This may be an insensitive question but I have noticed that you rarely use the couches in your rooms or the entertainment rooms. Are they not to your liking?”

Clint paused for a moment shifting into a tailors seat and pulling another textbook into his lap while he thought.

“It’s not that I don’t like them. Partly it’s training and partly preference.” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair, wishing his head would stop aching for a few moments.

“Do you have access to my full file, Jarvis? Would you agree that I did not exactly have a normal childhood?”

“I would argue that most of the people in this building have not had what most would label a normal childhood, Agent Barton.” Jarvis responded gently.

“Probably true. Why broken people always end up being the ones trying to save the world I’ll never know.” Clint muttered rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well, thanks to my unconventional childhood we rarely had couches or even chairs to sit in and since I was a kid I rarely got a chair, those went to the adults. I got used to being on the ground, sleeping on the ground. Took me months after I joined Shield to be able to sleep in a real bed, I was used to an army cot by that point.”

“You mentioned it was partly training, is there a way that you would be more comfortable?”

“Most couches are fluffy, Jarvis. You sit down and they try to swallow you. Stark’s couches are like that. It takes effort to wrench yourself out. If someone is attacking me I don’t need to spend extra effort to get out of a couch, spend seconds that might mean life or death fighting expensive couch cushions.” he said with a small laugh. “Add into that the fact that I am a sniper. Snipers sit for hours, heck even days at a time in one position barely moving, watching and waiting. You have to be relaxed but tense enough that you don’t stiffen up or lock up your muscles, it’s a fine balance. I’ve trained myself to crouch or lay prone in one position for hours at a time on a hard surface. It’s just more comfortable for me to stay in those positions even off the clock.”

“I see.”

“Then of course, you have to have a way out of your perch. You can’t hole up somewhere with no way down if the enemy spots you. You have to be able to be up and moving in a heartbeat.” Clint paused, his mind running through several of the more spectacular exits he has had to make from various nests, normally with people trying to shoot him at the time.

“When we watch TV at Coulson’s Natasha has an armchair that she likes. I normally sit on the top of the couch with my back against the wall, on a dresser thing he keeps to one side, or on the floor. It took me years to get comfortable enough around Coulson to even sit through a movie with him. I like the tower, Jarvis, I just am not comfortable enough around the team to relax just yet.”

“I understand. I apologize if I have offended in any way, Agent Barton.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Jarvis. I actually have a question for you if you don’t mind?”

“I will answer to my best ability.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. I know you are basically a super computer but just how broad a search can you do?”

“May I ask what you wish to search for?”  
“I want to see which colleges are using these text books and for which classes. I normally get Coulson to look since he can use the Shield databases and contract the instructors.”

“I take it you are interested in attending classes for these subjects?”

“No, I just study and take the exams. I don’t have time for real classes. Even with online classes I tend to miss too much class time to really attend.”  
“I see, I can indeed run such a search. Would you like me to send the result to Shield Liaison Coulson for him to arrange the exams?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Jarvis.”

“May I ask what degree you are trying to pursue, Agent Barton?”

“I’m not really. I have a few degrees, Coulson has the paperwork somewhere.” Clint said absently waving the question away as he cracked open the next textbook. “I just like to learn. I figured since I will have some downtime with Shield still not letting me be in the field I might as well get some use out of my time.”

“A noble pursuit. I will notify Liaison Coulson once the search is complete.”

“Thanks, I’ll send him a note so he expects it.” Clint said getting up and fetching his laptop. He might as well finish the last few forms that Coulson had emailed him earlier in the week.

 

***

 

“Hey Jarvis, what has our resident spy been up to this week? More vent roaming?” Tony asked. He was working at his workstation while Bruce puttered around behind him at another table covered with chemicals in various containers.

“Tony,” Bruce scolded lightly, “Do you really have Jarvis tracking everyone?”

“What, no.” Tony scoffed, turning to poke at the gauntlet he was repairing. “Well, define tracking? He just makes sure everyone has everything they need and to do that he tracks where they are and what they are doing at all times, it’s part and parcel with the excellent service.” Tony said dismissively. “Jarvis?”

“Your pardon, sir. I was inquiring with Agent Barton if he minded me sharing that information, he is a very private individual.”

“And what did the bird man say?”

“He had no issues with me informing you. He has spent his mornings out of the tower doing what he calls training and spends his afternoons studying for classes he is taking at several colleges. His nights are spent exercising.”

“Hold on, studying? What classes is he taking?”

“He is currently studying for six classes, the subjects range from American History, Computer Programming, Biology, and Advanced Mechanical Physics. I assisted in registering him for the classes with Liaison Coulson. Agent Barton apparently has earned several degrees in this manner.”

“Interesting, so our Hawk is a bird brain.” Tony mused. “Send him the schematics for the new bow and arrows. Let’s see if he can apply what he’s learned.”

“Would you like me to include the panels for the new armor as well?”  
“Yeah, give him the lot.”

“As you wish, sir.”

 

***

 

The training rooms were finally done so Steve and Clint headed down to play while Tony and Bruce were in the labs working on some experiment. Steve hit the weight machines while Clint went straight to the mats to stretch before grabbing the climbing rope and scaled it at top speed, pacing along the ceiling beams, eyeing the angles should he need to move quickly. Sliding partway down the rope he started doing small tricks, ascending and descending at speed, twisting the rope along a leg, waist or arm and letting it uncoil, spinning his body like a top. Climbing higher he sprang out letting his body fall, catching the rope on the way down and swinging to a stop.

Turning he jogged over to where a set of gymnastic rings hung from the ceiling. He let himself tumble and twist from the smooth rings, losing track of how long he had been suspended when he finally let gravity pull him into a twisting dismount, giving a small grin when he stuck the landing perfectly. The circus never pushed him to maintain his form as long as he landed but the crowds responded better when he could land with a flourish. Maybe he could hint to Jarvis about getting a trampoline so he could practice vaults and tumbling. Natasha would want a pair of uneven bars and somewhere to work on her ballet anyway.

He had removed his hearing aids before starting so he ignored the sight of Steve, Tony, and Bruce talking to one side. He turned away and moved to the small climbing wall to one side. He had just placed one foot in place when a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder trying to pull him around. He reacted on instinct, twisting out from under the hand and kicking out the larger person’s knees before throwing a backhand punch with all his body weight. It was over in seconds. He threw himself back into a defensive stance several steps away only to realize Steve was spitting blood onto the matts and Stark was yelling at him while Bruce rushed to grab a towel for Steve’s face.

“Shit.” He dug at his pockets while Stark ranted, only the lower sounds making it through the scarring in his ears. “Will you shut up for a second!” He snapped, digging out his hearing aids finally and turning them on. Stark watched stunned as he slid each one in.

“You OK, Steve? I should have left them in, sorry.”

“You’re deaf?” Tony shouted making him wince and scramble to turn down the volume as feedback screeched.

“Fuck.” Clint muttered, pulling one hearing aid out to rub at his now aching ear. “Eighty percent deaf in both ears. I hear fine with hearing aids, you don’t need to scream at me.”

“But you sign? You and Agent were signing at the meeting, ASL?”

“Yeah, my hearing has always sucked but I got too near an explosion on a mission and it was fucked after that. I learned ASL when I was little and it helps on missions sometimes. Coulson learned after the explosion since he was my handler.”

“How do the hearing aids work on missions?” Tony asked fingers twitching like he wanted to snatch them out of Clint’s ears to examine.

“Not great. I have one pair with the com frequency patched in but they get bad feedback.” he shrugged, “I get by.”

“That could be a problem if you lose them in the field or if you can’t hear us yelling about an incoming attack.” Steve pointed out with a small wince as he cleaned his split lip with a towel Bruce provided, it was already healing. “For that matter, I’m sorry I grabbed you. Teach me to mess with an assassin, right?” He asked with a bloody grin.

“Just don’t try it with Natasha, she goes for knives when startled.” Clint pointed out with a small wince himself as he remembered the first time he had managed to sneak up on the red headed assassin.

“Good to know.” Banner muttered, deadpan.

“Any other issues we should know about, peg leg? Anyone?” That got a group snort as Clint helped Steve up. “Good, by the way... Where the hell did the Olympic Events come from? I thought you were an archer?”

“I thought you read everyone’s files?” Clint retorted.

“Skimmed more than read. Assassin, uses medieval weaponry and is often partnered with fellow assassin and sex kitten, Black Widow.”

“And grew up in the circus which means besides archery I also learned to throw knives, tumbling, and was part of the high wire and trapeze acts for a few years.” He slid his hearing aid back in with a sigh, “And if you ever call Natasha a sex kitten again, she will kill you.”

“Don’t you mean you’ll kill him?” Bruce asked tentatively.

“Nope, Natasha always finds out things. She’ll kill him with something crazy like a toothpick and call it a hormonal accident since of course she is a weak and pitiful woman controlled by her hormones.”

“Does that excuse ever work?”  
“She is called the Black Widow for a reason, mate.” Clint offered, clapping Bruce on the shoulder.

 

***

 

Several days later Stark tossed him a small box as he came in for lunch. The man himself had been holed up in his lab for days on end working on several projects.

“Present for you, Legolas.”

“Not sure I’m up for you giving me jewelry, Stark.” Clint retorted, he glanced at Tony and the others seated in the room before pulling the box lid off. Inside were three sets of hearing aids.

“You know mine have to be specially fitted right?”

“Pift, I had Jarvis scan everyone in the tower a few days after you came, ear canals included. Give them a try.” he said over the sputters from Bruce as he choked on his tea.

“Yeah, cause that’s not invasive at all.” Clint muttered as he pulled out his hearing aids and replaced them with the new models after fiddling for a moment to find the on switch and volume controls.

“Agent Barton.” Jarvis said in one ear. Clint managed to keep his reaction to a muscle jumping in his jaw. Taking a breath, he glanced up at the others and raised an eyebrow.

“Well?” Tony demand.

‘Sounds good.” Clint said in a soft bored tone his face blank.

“Sounds good, my ass. All of the sets are identical in case you need a spare mid-mission. All include bluetooth capabilities so we can patch you in with any of the command lines minus the feedback and a constant connection to Jarvis allowing you to make a call from just about anywhere as long as you have your Stark phone nearby.”

“So you have Jarvis monitoring the sound levels to control the feedback?” and recording all conversations, Clint added silently.

“Exactly.” Tony said with a smirk. Clint nodded examining one of the other ear pieces.

“Thanks.” Clint managed, setting his old pair into the box and replacing the lid. “Let me know how much I owe you for them.” He would need to keep his regular pairs for his Shield assignments.

“Forget it. We need you able to hear in the field more than I need a refund.” Stark said waving away the offer. Clint nodded, gathering up his things.

“Let me put these in my room. We still sparing in a bit, Steve?”

“Yeah, and Thor should be back from New Mexico tonight so we’re going to order out and have a movie night.”

“Sure, I’ll see you guys in a bit.” Clint said quickly leaving and taking the stairs to his rooms. Only once he was inside with the doors locked behind him did he allow himself to react. Sliding down the wall he resting his aching head against his knees while he took deep breathes for several minutes.

“Jarvis.”  
“Yes, Agent Barton?”

“How much has Tony spent on me exactly? I mean the food, the books, I get that as him being nice. He’s designing a new bow and quiver for me and new trick arrows. He made me better hearing aids since the ones I had from R&D are crap, I get that was for the missions to keep everyone safe but I have to pay him back for some of this. It’s too much. Hell, he built me a range ‘cause no one else if going to need that big of a distance to shoot.” Clint gripped the back of his neck and tried to ignore how his head was pounding. “I have money, hell I have a lot of money I almost never use since I’ve spent most of my career in Shield with them providing housing, clothes, and weaponry. I may have started out as a dirt poor circus freak but I’m not broke. I can pay for some of this.”

“Agent Barton, if I may speak for Master Stark in this matter, the money is of no consequence to him. He simply enjoys designing things that the people around him will use. In designing your hearing aids he was making them for you alone but he has submitted the designs to his R&D department to see if they can be altered for mass production allowing other hearing impaired to purchase and use them. That application will pay in full any cost the design incurred. He is also working on a new material he hopes will survive Master Banner’s transformations. If successful then it too will have other public uses which will cover the cost of the research and development of the material.”

“Can I at least be charged for the groceries and such in my rooms? I feel like I am squatting in some posh pad where I have yet to figure out exactly what the real cost for the food is. I don’t like owe-ing people things, Jarvis.”

“I will adjust the groceries for your floor to be charged to your account with Shield.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.” Clint said sitting up and rubbing a hand across his face, freezing for a second when he smeared something across his lip. Touching a hand to the smear he pulled his hand away, fingers smeared with blood.

“Fuck.” he mumbled, pinching at his nose that was now gushing blood. He scrambled to the bathroom. Cleaning up a bit he he kept pressure up until the flow slowed down. Holding a wet cloth to his nose he lay back on his bed waiting for the blood to stop. He woke up an hour later coughing to clear his throat, blood all over his hands and face, head pounding.

Thankfully the nosebleed had stopped. He cleaned up as best he could, stripping the sheets from the bed and changing clothes before he headed down for his sparring session with Steve. That night they watched several animated Disney movies at the insistence of Thor who had been introduced to them by Darcy, Jane Foster’s assistant.

  
  
”


	3. Headaches

***

 

Clint crawled out of the cab and tossed some cash at the driver. Even with his sunglasses the light was almost unbearable. Between no sleep or food beyond electrolyte gel and a red eye flight back to the city his headache had turned into a supernova. While he was running around the world on three different missions for Shield and various contracts that they had approved he had managed to ignore the growing pain and tension filling his body. Now that he had finally lost his mission focus he could barely breathe. Stumbling into the elevator he hit the button for his floor and slumped against the wall.

“Good Morning, Agent Barton. Welcome back.”

“Morning Jarvis.” Clint almost slurred. “Do me a favor, kill the lights on my floor, my head’s trying to fall off. Fucking red eye flights.”

“Of course, if I may, there are should be some migraine rated pain relievers in the bathroom medicine cabinet of your rooms.”

“Thanks.” Clint said not bothering to suppress the small groan that slid from his throat as he was forced to move away from the support of the elevator wall and into the dim hallway. He fumbled his way into his dimly lit rooms and straight to the bathroom cabinet, dry swallowing two tablets and pawed out his hearing aids before staggering to his bedroom and face planting in his bed fully dressed, not even bothering to take off his boots.

Five hours later he woke from a nightmare full of blood, his temples pounding with every breathe. Shuddering, he pulled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Stripping out of his sweat soaked clothes he took a long hot shower trying to push the nightmare images farther away. He always had nightmares after wet work missions. Taking three in a row was guaranteed to mess with his head. He should have known better but he had needed to get out and feel useful. At least this time his dreams weren’t blue tinted.

Getting out and drying off he went through his normal morning routine before getting dressed in jeans and a hoodie, the prerequisite weapons hidden in their normal places. He stuffed a few more migraine tablets in one pocket before taking another two with a glass of water. Snagging a book and a bottle of water he headed for the elevator.

“Jarvis, are the other’s still doing breakfast?”

“Actually, Agent Barton, they are planning to start lunch in an hour if you are willing to wait.”

“Huh, later than I thought.” Clint muttered, checking the time on his phone.

“Captain Rogers is currently in the gym and offering to spar if you are interested.”

“Nah, tell him I’ll take a rain check. I’m taking the day off, I still have to finish the paperwork for the last week and get it to Coulson by tomorrow. Just glad I debriefed before I caught the last plane.” Clint said with a small laugh, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair and peeking in the fridge to see what he could nibble on until lunch was served. His body still ached from the strain of the missions and he had no intention of pushing himself too soon and injuring himself when he had just gotten back in fighting form.

“Master Stark has informed me that we will be ordering in for lunch and wishes to know if you object to pizza?”

“I’m not picky, Jarvis. I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.” he said selecting a small yogurt and perching on one of the bar stools to read until everyone else joined him. An hour later Stark and Banner exited the elevator arms full of pizza boxes.

“Jeez, Stark. What army are you trying to feed?”

“Maybe we just want to find out what a fat hawk looks like, Legolas.” Stark said with a grin. “Anyway, it’s Tony and you have not seen how much pizza a thunder god and a super soldier can eat in one sitting.”

“Thor’s back?”

“He’s in the gym with Steve. They should be up in a bit according to Jarvis.” Banner chimed in, dropping his load on the kitchen bar. “That any good?” he asked gesturing to Clint’s book, a biography on Lincoln.

“Not bad, you can have it tomorrow if you like, I’m almost done.” Clint offered moving the book off the table and to a open spot on the kitchen counter where it would be out of the way.

He was not sure how he felt about the God of Thunder living in the same building with them. He had not spent any time with him before he left to take his brother back to Asgard. He really could not blame him for his brother’s actions considering his relationship with his own brother was just as messy.

An hour later he sat back and watched as Steve and Thor demolished the last of the pizza. Apparently the super soldier had been hiding just how much food he could put away at one sitting given the chance. Clint had barely eaten two slices himself while Bruce and Tony had split one pizza between themselves. Clint did his best to ignore how badly his stomach was tolerating the greasy pizza he had managed to eat.

 

“So Merida, we finished the range while you were out. Care to go try it out?” Tony asked idly picking toppings off a lone remaining slice that Thor was eying.

“Sure, let me go get my gear.” Clint agreed, heading back up to his rooms. He snagged several antacid while he was there, hoping it would settle his stomach. Maybe it was a reaction to all the migraine pills, he would cut back on the meds for the rest of the day and see.

Jarvis brought him down to the sub basement level the range was on, the elevator opening straight into the range. Tony happily showed off the various movable targets and how different shaped targets could drop out randomly. It was all controlled by Jarvis and could be adjusted as needed or simply speed up as Jarvis learned his needs and skills. Clint made a mental note to discuss his normal training regimen with the AI to see if he could track his progress and help him improve.

Tugging off his hoodie he ignored the shocked sound Stark made behind him. He knew he had lost a lot of weight in the six weeks since the attack. His body had lost the thin layer of fat he had had since he was a child leaving his muscles tight against skin and bone. He had forced himself to pick up a few t-shirts that actually fit when he was out of town, three sizes smaller than he normally wore. Of course, Stark might just be making noises over the scars that littered his back, shoulders and arms. He pulled on his shooting gloves and arm guard before stringing the long bow and sighting on the farthest target. The room had a high ceiling letting him angle the shot, he released and turned away, not needing to watch the arrow find the bullseye.

 

“What happened to your other bow?” Steve asked, eying the wooden longbow with an uncertain expression.

“It’s Shield property. I’m only allowed to use it on Shield missions. These two are mine.” he said selecting another three arrows and firing at three separate targets, swiveling smoothly to catch two on opposite ends of the room. Selecting an armor piercing tipped arrow he pulled to full draw, pausing to feel the stretch through his back and arms before releasing, allowing himself a small smile as the arrow went straight through one target and half way through the next only stopped by the concrete wall behind it, drawing an impressed sound from Thor.

“I may bring a bow back in my next trip to Asgard. I would give much to see how to fair with one of our craftsmanship.” Clint gave a nod of acknowledgement before losing his next arrow.

“I called in a few favors and have some gear coming in this week. Should be kitted out and ready for training by Friday, Cap.” he said, tossing this over his shoulder at Steve where he and Thor were leaning against the wall watching.

“Good, maybe we can start a few team training sessions this weekend. We still need to figure out how to safely use the Hulk in training as well.”

“Good luck with that.” Bruce muttered, picking up an arrow and examining it as Clint set down the long bow and readied the compound bow.

“Wait a minute...” Tony interrupted, sputtering, “So if the Avengers are called out we are supposed to wait for the explosive arrows to what, be delivered to you in the field by Shield before you can use your normal gear?”

“No idea.” Clint said, taking his next shot. “I’m just making sure I’m equipped with or without them.”

Tony made a face and wandered off muttering about explosive compounds and typing at his phone. Eventually the others wandered away as he continued to practice. Later that night he quizzed Jarvis on how he could track his accuracy and speed in the range while doing pull ups in his room using one of the doorways. He ignored the fact that several rows of textbooks had been added to the shelves in the living area.

 


	4. Missions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team preps for their first training session and Clint works on his weapons.

***

 

The only thing he disliked about his new contractor status with Shield was that all his normal gear and bows were kept at Shield. He was only allowed to use them when on Shield authorized missions or on base. While he was working for the Avengers he would need to use his own gear or things that Stark provided. While he was out of the country he had hit up a few of his own contacts and arranged to have some basic weaponry and gear sent to the tower. He would have to spend this week customizing everything. Until his new bow came in and was adjusted he was using the standard compound and long bow he had with him.

That week he slowly collected and altered weapons and armor to match his style and preferences in between meeting with Shield. One side of the living room quickly turned into a machine shop as he brought in the tools he needed to strip and alter the guns and rifles he worked with. He did his best to keep the metal shavings out of the carpet.

Three days in he came back lugging two drills and a bullet case vise to eye the new workbench that had been installed along one wall. The files and saws he had been working with were neatly slotted in place with room for new drills and such. The parts of various weapons scattered around the room had all been left where they lay, scraps of kevlar and material covering the couch from where he had been reinforcing his uniform clothing for heavy combat.

 

“Thanks, Jarvis.” he said with a small laugh, hefting one of the new clamps decorating the edge of the bench. The carpet had been removed around the bench, leaving soft colored pine flooring and a high stool he could use as he worked. Shelves and pegboard had replaced the blank wall giving him room to both store his weapons and more room for books should he need it.

“I am afraid I complained a bit too forcefully to Master Stark about having to clean metal shavings out of your floor’s carpet bots. He insisted on giving you somewhere to work that would not harm the carpet. He is also upgrading all the carpet bots to deal with heavy usage and use in workshops. I believe he said something about enjoying the challenge.”

“Surprised he hasn’t already done something for the bots that clean his labs.” Clint pointed out.

“Since that would involve actually cleaning his lab I doubt it has crossed his mind before, Agent Barton.” Jarvis offered dryly.

“Very true.” Clint said with a grin, gathering up the various parts he was working on and laying everything out across the bench before he started unpacking his latest purchase.

“If I may, Sir has asked me to send you the blueprints for some new arrows that he is working on.”

“Cool, let me get everything in place and we can go over those. This afternoon I am going to be working on some stuff for Shield and will probably be on base all day tomorrow.” he said scrubbing a hand along his neck and debating asking for some medication to knock him out for the night from Shield medical, the headache a solid wall of pressure at the back of his head. He hated going to medical, he had never developed the trust of doctors that everyone else around him seemed to have.

The next day he spent hours reviewing attack plans and video footage on base, helping to set up plans of attack for several different teams and missions. It was late when he finally managed to leave the conference room and set off to make his way back to the tower. Two hours later he had a handful of pills in one pocket guaranteed to knock him out for the night. He disliked drugging himself but he needed to get some sleep if he wanted to be in any shape for the training sessions that weekend. Maybe once or twice a week he could take them just to keep things even.

That night for the first time in months he got six hours of mostly dreamless sleep. Getting up he got dressed and ready for his morning. He headed to the gym, hoping a brisk workout would pull the drugged fog out of his head. He skipped breakfast and spent the morning in the gym working until every muscle burned. After cleaning up in his room he joined the others for a quick lunch of sandwiches, discussing books with Bruce for a while before heading back to Shield to finish up the paperwork for several upcoming missions.

He stopped by Coulson’s office late that afternoon, waiting until he glanced up from his paperwork to hand him the large cup of coffee he had brought with him. Phil took it without comment, taking a sip before setting it to one side of his desk. He eyed his asset of ten years as he settled into the couch to one side, boots in the cushions, back to the wall as always. He finally looked a little more rested and relaxed then he had been since the attack on New York.

Phil  settled back in his chair for a moment, he had been worried with how worn and stressed Barton looked as the weeks stretched out with no missions. He had finally caved to Barton’s request to complete several contracts at once with the hope it out get him out of the rut he was in and closer to his normal state prior to Loki. He let the talk stay on the Shield cases that Barton had been working with and the two requests he had received for outside contracts from other organizations. Once they had run out of Shield business he gently pulled the conversation back to the Avengers.

 

“How’s living at the tower going? Issues with Stark?” he asked, sipping his coffee, expression bland.

“Stark’s still buying everyone random shit for their rooms. He filled mine with books and a workbench since I was rebuilding one of my rifles.”

“Surprised he did not give you lab of your own.” Coulson pointed out with a quirk of his lips.

“Don’t say that too loud, he might hear you.” Clint snorted, “I just managed to get out of R&D’s clutches. Think I’m going to wait a while before designing anything for Stark. He might never let me out.” Coulson watched Barton grinning at him. Shield was hard pressed to wrestle Barton away from R&D once they got on a roll. Barton already had his name attached to over fifty patents thanks to them. How anyone ever took the calm archer as stupid was beyond him, Barton had been a major asset since he walked through Shield's door ten years ago.

“Have you heard from Natasha, sir?” Clint asked interrupting his train of thought.

“Nothing beyond the normal check ins. It looks like she is going to be out of pocket for a few more months. This is going to be a long one.”

“You’ll let me know if she needs backup?” Clint asked, one hand stroking along a pale scar on his wrist that the widow had given him during their first encounter.  
“As always. Speaking of R&D, they want you to schedule a few hours with them next week to work on some new armor designs.”

“Please tell me they are not changing my arm guard again?” Coulson gave him his patented bland smile. “Shit.”

“I’m sure you can sweet talk them into playing with the new rounds they have in exchange.” Coulson offered, gathering up the stack of paperwork he needed for his next meeting.

“You coming for the training sessions this weekend, Sir?”

“I doubt Stark would ever forgive me if I missed them.”

“Or the Captain.” Clint added, earning a small flush from Coulson as he flipped a salute and slid out of the office.

 

***

 

The weekend was one to remember. Saturday was spent miles out in middle of nowhere working as a team to capture the flag from a mound of twisted steel and wood while trying to convince the Hulk that he was allowed to smash as much as he wanted of the scrap littering the area once they managed to get the flag. Thor was slated to be the bad guy for the exercise and spent most of the day dumping rain, sleet, and hail down on them with the occasional near miss of lightning. Once they got close to the mound Steve and Hulk got into a three way battle with Thor while Tony dropped Clint in the back of the pile before swinging back around to harass Thor. Clint snatched the flag in record time, setting off the alarm that signaled the end of the exercise.

Sunday was spent reviewing the footage of Saturday, nursing scrapes and sprains,  trying to figure out ways they could have done better while laughing themselves hoarse over the bloopers that had resulted as the day went on. Tony acting like a moving lightning rod, Hulk getting pissed at the hail and trying to take out everything around him, Steve slipping and sliding around like he was on an ice rink without skates in the icy puddles around the mound once the battle was over.

 


	5. ASL and Missions

 

***

 

They finally were called out for an Avengers mission three months after the attack. Tony had come through for Clint and managed to fashion a quiver full of explosive arrows for him to use. He was still working on a new bow and quiver design that would allow him to keep more arrows along with the exchangeable arrowhead system. The new arrows were working well against the laser beam equipped robots they were fighting even if the shrapnel from the explosions was littering a several block wide radius.

Three hours later the robots were destroyed and the makers rounded up and being interrogated by Shield. The Avengers had stayed to assist in the cleanup since none of the team were injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises. It was late when they arrived back at the tower to the smell of chinese filling the communal floor.

“Sir, the food has been delivered and paid for. Miss Potts has asked that you call at your earliest convenience.”

“Let me get cleaned up and give her a call. You guys dig in.” Tony said waving the rest of the group toward the food.

Thor simply grabbed an entire tray of sesame chicken and a fork and took it into the living area, collapsing on the couch already shoveling food in his mouth. Clint gave a small snort before grabbing a stack of plates and forks and giving Steve and Bruce a set. He grabbed an armload of bottled waters while they got some food and got settled before passing them out and heading back to get his own food. Clint simply snagged a box of fried rice and settled on the floor laid out prone on his stomach to peck at his tablet as the others fell asleep around him fiddling with a new bow design that he wanted R&D to replicate so he could field test it.

“Agent Barton?” Jarvis murmured into his hearing aid, making him paused with a bite halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah, Jarvis?” he responded, voice low.

“Master Stark has been attempting for me to learn American Sign Language. I have been working from recordings and believe I have a basic understanding. I would like to attempt some conversations with you if you are willing.”

“You mean with me signing while you ask questions?”

“Yes, Master Stark and I are still working on a program that will reliably translate spoken or written word into ASL.”

“Well, your main problem is that there are regional signs and most people who sign have their own shorthand they use. That’s not even including the different versions of ASL like French, Portuguese, or Finnish, there’s Signed Exact English or about a hundred other versions you would need to know to set up a real translation program. I taught Natasha and Coulson, so we all use the same basic system and know each other’s short hand signs. Most interpreters are constantly learning new signs and definitions for old signs that are now interpreted differently depending on how they're used. You would need a separate AI just to keep up to date on the signs used in current day speech. I would just pick a regional area and learn basic ASL with some regional dialect thrown in. Once you have the basics you can learn more regional changes as you see them or branch out into the other versions.”

“I did try and explain to Master Stark that it was a complex issue, however he is rather determined.”

“Well, I can teach you what I know. Go ahead and schedule some time this week to work on it with me. For once I am going to be here for most of the week, we can work on it while I finish modifying my rifles. Next week I am out on missions, I’ll send you what my schedule is looking like for the month and we can slot in some time, ok?”

“If I may sir, I can access your schedule if it is on your tablet or phone.” Clint snorted at that, setting the box of rice to the side.

“Yeah, first rule of spy school, Jarvis. Never leave records of your activities behind if you are able. Most of my schedule for the next six months is in my head.”

“I apologize, Agent Barton.”

“It’s alright, Jarvis. I probably should give you guys a basic layout of when I will be out of the country. It’s going to be subject to a lot of changes however, Shield likes to pull me in when things go FUBAR on missions so I get a lot of last minute call outs. They might not be using me a lot right now so I’m available for the team but that could change.”

He pulled himself to his feet, gathering up plates and forks from his sleeping teammates and dumped everything in the sink.

“Will someone else be by to put of the rest of the food?”

“I will make sure it is stored properly.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.” Gathering up his gear he went to his floor to get cleaned up.

“You’re already helping track my progress in training, if you don’t mind using the memory chips I could use your help tracking some more information in the same way.” Clint asked hesitantly.

“How can I be of assistance?”

“The World Security Council is still pushing for my removal from the team. Fury and Coulson are stalling and hope they will lose interest once it’s obvious I’m working for the Avengers and too in the public eye to be removed.”

“Master Stark has not mentioned this.”

“Yeah, Shield is keeping it on the down low and I would appreciate you doing the same. This isn’t something Stark can throw money at and make disappear.”

“How do you need me to help, Agent Barton?”

“Honestly, I have no idea yet. Coulson and I are going back through all my previous missions with Shield, even the super classified ones, and trying to prove just how valuable I am to Shield and how much I have helped in doing what I do.” Clint gave a short bark of laughter, “Coulson is going to kill me for telling you this but the file you have on me does not even have a tenth of the missions I have worked on for Shield. When we do a mission we are given a code name. I have around seventy right now. The only thing associating me to a mission is my code name and only my handler knows them all. Unless you know all the code names you would never find half the stuff I have had a hand in.”

“That would explain why the files for Hawkeye and Black Widow seemed so small considering you have been with Shield for over ten years now.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask Coulson if he can give you the list. Maybe you can help us figure out a way to present it to the WSC.”

“I would be happy to assist you.”  
“Thanks, Jarvis.”

 


	6. Death in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Selvig passes away and Clint is called in to be checked out.

***

 

Clint was perched waiting for his shot somewhere in the mountains of a country he would never officially set foot in when an argument rang out over the coms, making him wince. Several voices were overlapping each other at full volume countermanding each other.

“Vector to base, you need assistance?” Clint queried, silencing the line.

“Vector, this is a priority one recall, authorization code omega 431 gamma. You are to abandon your perch and head to the evac point at speed, do you copy?” his handler for the mission rattled off, his voice harsh with annoyance.

“Copy base. Vector going off com.”

“Copy Vector, see you stateside.”

Clint shut down the com as he quickly dismantled his rifle and crawled back from the cliff face. Shouldering his case he moved off at a quick jog, he had almost ten miles of rough ground to cover before he could find out why he had just gotten pulled off a mission that Shield had been trying to set up for the last year. It could be months before they got another shot at the weapons dealer who was going to be driving through the pass on the other side of the mountain pass in two hours. Thankfully, he passed another Shield sniper headed to his nest at double time once the helicopter arrived, hopefully he would make the shot. He wasn’t really reassured since he never noticed where Clint was hiding to one side of the trail.

An hour later he was in a helicopter being ferried back to a local base with instructions to be on the first flight back to New York and to head to medical once he reached base. Between the layovers and security checks at each base they transferred planes at, almost 24 hours passed before he reached New York. His head felt like it have been stuffed with cotton with the never ending headache ratcheting his shoulders tight against his spine. He was still in mission mode, focused only on getting information and finding his target. He had been on that cliff for four days with next to no sleep and only a handful of hours sleep on the return flight thanks to bad weather. Striding off the plane he was reassured to see Coulson waiting for him.

“Sir, what the hell is going on?” he snapped, the hold on his temper fraying with exhaustion.

“Sorry, Barton. This one has a top clearance level. Let’s get you to medical and checked out so I can fill you in.”

“Lead the way, sir.” Clint said with a sigh, he hated medical. Twelve hours and enumerable tubes of blood later, Clint was shown into a small conference room containing Agent Coulson.

“Sorry for pulling you out so fast, Agent Barton, we could not leave an agent out on mission with a possible life threatening injury.”

“What? I’m fine!” Clint protested in disbelief.

“Dr. Selvig died two days ago from a massive heart attack.” Coulson said firmly waiting for his agent to connect the dots, Clint merely waited face blank. “It appears that his heart was weakened during his time under the tesseract’s control. The first results are back from your tests and your heart is fine.”

“So I just donated half my blood supply to prove I was perfectly healthy? It has been almost a year since Loki, sir.”  
“Call it peace of mind.” Coulson replied with a slight smile. “The only recommendation Medical has is that you need to eat more. You’re not malnourished but you are close to underweight considering your job classification.” Coulson said with a small frown.

“Yeah, I got underweight after all the crap with Loki. I’m getting it back, sir.”

“See that you do.” Coulson said, handing him the forms to sign off. “You're dismissed for the rest of the week. R&D wants you here on Monday to go over some new designs. Dismissed, Agent. Go find your bed, you look like you need it.”

“Sir.” Clint said giving Coulson a salute before heading out the door to find where they had stashed his bags. An hour and one argument with the hanger staff later he had his bags and was flagging down a cab.

 

“Good Afternoon, Agent Barton. Welcome back.”

“Hey, Jarvis. How is everyone?” Clint asked making his way into the elevator.  
“Master Odinson has left to go attend to Doctor Foster in her time of grief. Master Stark has sent flowers to the funeral home in New Mexico. Doctor Selvig had arrangements to be buried in Norway in the town his family originally immigrated from.”

“Good for him. Any of the team going to the funeral?”

“It has yet to be decided when the actual funeral will be held however his friends in New Mexico will be holding a memorial this afternoon that Doctor Foster and Master Odinson will attend with Miss Lewis.”

“I’ll have to send Jane and Darcy a card. They were close to Selvig. He was a bear to work with but he knew his stuff.”

“I confess I do not understand the need to send flowers to someone who has had a friend or relative pass away.” Jarvis admitted as Clint exited the elevator at his floor.

“It’s one of those traditional things. Personally I don’t see Jane or Darcy needing plants or flowers. Jane has a black thumb and would kill any potted plant you gave her and Darcy doesn’t keep plants that I ever saw beyond a few cactus.”

“May I ask how you know that Miss Jane is...unfamiliar with keeping plants?”  
“One of my missions was keeping an eye on Jane and Darcy after Thor came to New Mexico. Jane had this plant in her office that kept dying and Darcy would just buy a new one and replace it. I don’t think Jane even realized it was a different plant, she watered it the same no matter what.”

By this point in the conversation Clint had reached his bedroom and started stripping for a shower. He still had sand and seed pods in his hair from the field he had crawled across almost two days ago.

“Master Stark also wished to make sure everyone had their wishes for their own burials recorded somewhere.”

“Jarvis, Shield has all that for me and Natasha.” Clint explained tiredly rubbing at a spot of dried mud he had missed somehow on his elbow, between the ghillie suit and face paint he had been invisible on the cliff but he still felt like he had brought most of the sand back on his skin. “As long as you’re not signed up to donate your body to science, every Shield Agent is cremated and given a spot on the memorial wall at the office they mainly worked in. Ours would be put in the New York offices. If you have family, the ashes are given to them and a sweep done of your quarters to remove all sensitive material before the family is allowed to come collect the belongings.”

“I noticed that you do not have a next of kin listed in your records, Agent Barton.”

“Yeah, my parents died when I was a kid, my brother a few years ago. All my stuff is to go to Agent Coulson. He knows what should go to Tasha and can do what he likes with the rest.”

“I am sorry if I have brought up bad memories, Agent Barton.”  
“It’s fine, Jarvis. I’m going to shower and get some sleep, been up for almost three days now, getting punchy is all.”

“Of course, sir. Have a good night.”

“Yeah.” Clint said, rubbing at his eyes as he stepped into the hot water.

That night he dreamed of curling around the broken body of his brother as he bleed out. He woke whimpering, curled tight in the middle of the bed. A long time later he finally got his breathing under control enough to shakily climb out of bed. Getting dressed he went down to the range and shot until his fingers were bloody and the spot on his cheek that he used as a notch point was rough and reddened. He spent the rest of his day in the vents, curled in one of his nests.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Pranked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony decides the team needs to decompress and starts a prank war.

 

***

 

In the following month Tony decided to engage everyone in the tower with a prank war in order to lift moral. So far, everyone had their alarms reset to go off randomly, their ringtones set to heavy metal or in Steve’s case to play Spice Girls no matter who he got to change it for him. Every bottle in Tony’s bar had been emptied and exchanged for fruit juice dyed the correct color in retaliation when everyone’s beds were covered in jello. Thor and Steve had taken advice from Darcy and filled everyone’s shoes with Legos along with super gluing Tony’s hand to a coffee mug. Bruce was mainly staying out of the fight but Clint thought he was the genius behind Tony’s entire lab being taped to the ceiling and the itching powder in everyone’s socks.

Clint took it in stride, avoiding most of the smaller pranks simply using his normal training. Every item in his rooms were inspected before use. If anything was moved or even slightly out of place the entire floor was inspected for traps. His only contribution to the fight so far had been popping up randomly and nailing the team with nerf darts. He was nice and didn’t even coat the tips with super glue. It finally came to a head however when they decided to deface his gear, no one touched his bows and survived to tell about it, even the junior agents on base knew not to touch his stuff.

The rest of the team quickly found out how uncomfortable living with a spy could be. Trip wires and snares were littered all over the building with only Jarvis knowing where they were so non-team members would not get hurt. Steve and Tony went bald after their shampoo was replaced with nair. Apparently Asgardians could not be affected by Nair and Steve’s hair regrew after two days. Everyone’s clothes disappeared and were replaced with dresses and camisoles in their sizes. Scanned images of Steve’s sketchbook hit the internet along with his cell phone number and several hundred galleries started calling him nonstop trying to buy his work. Somehow, Thor’s hammer was moved about randomly and hidden resulting in some interesting redecorating having to be done to the tower, mainly to Tony’s floor, when Thor finally got fed up and just called his hammer to him.

All of Tony’s gadgets began randomly disappearing and reappearing around the tower. The coffee pots were reprogrammed to only dispense tea for two miserable days before Tony had new machines sent in. Tony was able to avoid most of the annoyances of the prank war by simply throwing money at the issues the others caused him.

In two weeks Tony went through six phones and ten sets of keys for his favorite car. His laptops and voice activated systems that did not use Jarvis were set to only respond to Swahili. His wallet randomly disappeared along with all his credit cards and IDs and he had traffic violations called in every time he went out in the car alone, resulting him him getting pulled over and ticketed for driving without a license.

Anytime Tony parked somewhere outside the tower, his car was towed. Reservations were canceled minutes after he made them, all supposedly called by his non-existent personal assistant. All of his personal numbers were reprogrammed or rerouted to call Alcoholics Anonymous. Tony finally blew a gasket when everyone who worked in the tower received flowers charged to his account with a note saying they would be receiving a raise.

Coulson was called in to mediate the negotiations. They gathered in the conference room, hashing out the various pranks and their retaliations. Clint sat in a back corner, not participating, his face blank as each team member admitted to at least one prank and gave the reasoning for why they had done what they did.

 

“Alright. Tony, what exactly is your complaint.” Coulson asked calmly eyes tracking across the assembled Avengers. Steve, Thor, and Bruce watched the proceedings with looks of apathy, while the pranks had been entertaining at first it was now at the point that they just wanted things to go back to normal. Tony paced and bristled, hands fisting.

“I could deal with the Nair and yes, even the programing glitches but he sent everyone in the building a note saying they were getting a raise. I’ve had payroll calling me non-stop because everyone is trying to check and see how large a raise I meant.”

“Clint, anything to say to these accusations?”

“Janet and the other maids needed a raise considering the crap these idiots have been doing. I mean come on, jello and itching power everywhere? We probably tripled their workload for the month in laundry alone.” Steve’s kicked puppy look multiplied by a factor of ten as he realized he had been making others work to fix what they had broken.

“Who’s Janet?” Bruce asked quietly.

“She’s the maid who cleans our floors at night when everyone is out.” Clint said bluntly.

“Fine. I’ll give them a raise. What about all the traffic tickets and pick pocketing me constantly?”

“You fucked with my bows.” Clint pointed out calmly, his face a blank mask. “You’re lucky I didn’t disable the breaks in all your cars.”

“You have no proof I did it.” Tony retorted with a snort.

“Yeah, I do.” Clint snapped, making everyone glance at him. He rarely showed a lot of emotion and right now his entire body was one tense line. “Thor would never damage another warriors weapons.” He pointed out before gesturing violently to where Steve was sitting. “Steve was in the war and knows that you don’t mess with another soldiers gear, no matter the reason. You have to be ready to be out in battle at any time.” Steve reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Bruce might have done it but it was too over the top for him. The worst he’s done so far was get the others to tape your lab to the ceiling.” He turned to face Tony his mask cracking slightly, hands clenched in tight fists as he fought to remain calm. “You put astroglide on every bow I have here. On the grips.” he spat, ignoring the slight flinch from Tony as he slapped one fist against the wall. “My quivers and arrows are covered in vaseline. It’s taken me days to clean it off. The only reason I didn’t do anything drastic was that I still had gear at Shield if I had to go on a mission for them.” he got up and paced before them. “I had to buy another bow and start customizing it so I would have something just in case we were called out before I could get everything clean. Did you even consider that Tony? That we have to live in a constant state of readiness for battle and you fucked with the one main thing that I use to help the team? Did you think at all?” He snarled in Tony’s face before turning and striding out of the room.

 

Coulson sighed before walking to the door and closing it.

“I am going to explain this once and then I expect each of you to work to fix this.” He said calmly moving to stand in front of the group, Tony sinking into a chair to one side.

“Everything Agent Barton owned was destroyed when the tesseract was stolen by Loki. The base he was stationed at was underground. Everything was buried under several thousand tons of rock. He has never been a person of many possessions considering his childhood and how he lived before Shield but there were several items that he considered irreplaceable.” Coulson paused, glancing over the men’s faces. “The only thing he had when he arrived here at the tower were the clothes on his back and even that belonged to Shield. The bows and weapons he has bought since arriving here are his only personal possessions and you decided to deface them, the weapons that he bought and customized so that he could protect his team and his country.” Coulson watched them shifting in discomfort.

“I do not care who started this but it needs to be fixed. This prank war is over as of now. Agent Barton is a very private person and I doubt anything can be done at the moment to repair the invasion of that privacy. For now I suggest you each give the others some space while you remember that you are meant to be a team.”

  
  
  



	8. Darcy

 

***

 

Jane Foster had finally been talked into taking a contract with Shield and Stark Industries, moving her lab and her assistant, Darcy, into the tower. It became common for them to join the others at breakfast and dinner or to find Jane, Bruce, and Tony around the coffee machine discussing science in words big enough to make the most scholarly person jealous. Clint could not fault their dedication however as he was occasionally enlisted to pull the various scientists out of their lairs at some ungodly hour of the morning while Darcy insisted they get some sleep before they blew themselves and the rest of the tower up.

Tonight, Darcy and he were making blueberry muffins and omelets at 3AM since the science troops were on a roll and would have to be tempted out with actual food and non-sludgy coffee. Apparently you could ask Jarvis who was awake in the tower and invite them to make random baked goods.

After being forced to work as a chef in a hotel for a mission, Clint had learned to cook fairly well. He knew enough small tricks and ways to change recipes that he could make just about any recipe you threw at him, he just never enjoyed making the multicourse meals that Natasha seemed to insist on whenever he cooked for her. However, making cinnamon rolls from scratch was not out of bounds, he thought pulling together the ingredients while Darcy was finishing up her muffins and left the dough to rise while they finished the omelets.

He kneaded the dough and rolled it out while Darcy fiddled with her ipod and sipped a coffee with enough flavored creamer to make the room stink of caramel. Adding the filling he quickly rolled a log of dough and began slicing off sections, laying them out in the waiting pans as Darcy watched wide eyed.

“Damn, next time you are totally in charge of the kitchen.” She said stealing a bite of the frosting. “You do this often?”

“Only if asked, Natasha likes to make me cook.” he said with a grin offering her a scrap of cinnamon and sugar covered dough which she snatched with relish.

“Jarvis, can you inform the Science Team that breakfast will be ready in ten minutes and that if they are not up and present in thirty minutes I am cutting the power to the labs?”

“I shall endeavor to deliver you ultimatum, Miss Darcy.”

“Nice, I am going to have to remember that one.” Clint grinned as he pulled one tray out of the oven and set the next one in to cook. He maneuvered the rolls off the tray once they were cool enough and let Darcy ice them, ignoring the three that she covered with icing an inch thick, these were set to the side where anyone entering would not steal them. The scientists quickly filed in and filled a plate heading to their beds once the food coma hit. The rest of the food was demolished at 5AM when Thor and Steve came in on the way to go run.

  
  
  



	9. Denile

 

***

 

Another few months had passed and the team was slowly recovering their balance. They had been on several missions that thankfully were relatively easy and completed without destroying entire blocks of the city. It was nice change of pace. In the downtime, Clint went on several small missions for Shield that were quick, in and out, wet work or information recovery that only took a few days at a time leaving him at the tower more often than not.

Clint had slowly given up on eating breakfast and lunch with how finicky his stomach had become. He bought protein shakes and bars to stock on his floor to have something to nibble at or sip while the rest of the team ate waffles or mounds of bacon. Thor in particular seemed to think that every meal had to be ninety percent meat. He and Darcy made breakfast once in a while with her finding him working out or reading at four in the morning and demanding some crazy pastry while he would make with the help of a recipe supplied by Jarvis. Clint sat with a book and ate yogurt or a protein bar with Bruce most mornings but sometimes even that messed with him, those days he drank his shakes and quickly excused himself, using business at Shield or training as an excuse for his hasty exits.

He could not be getting sick, he really couldn’t. The only reason he was not rotting in a jail somewhere was because Shield had taken a chance on a ex-military mercenary who had exceptional aim and a penchant for strange weapons. He knew in his head that he had more worth than that to Shield now but he had seen how quickly they turned on him after the incident with the tesseract. He had to be at his best or he might be retired with a bullet between the eyes in a back alley at the end of a mission. He knew too much about how Shield operated to ever really be allowed to retire if he was too injured to work.

Steve had decided they needed to have more team dinners together along with game and movie nights. Clint had to admit it was awesome to watch Captain America curse out his opponents in Call of Duty 3. While Thor was declared king of Mario Cart once he managed to stop crushing the controllers. Clint and surprisingly Bruce cleaned up at the card games while Tony ruled the board games.

They fought together and cooked big dinners. They laughed and helped patch each other up after a battle. They played games and sat quietly and read together. They argued and snapped at each other, forgiving each other the next day since they did have to live together, fight together even if they did not particularly like each other that moment.

Clint lived as best he could. He trained everyday using Jarvis to track his progress and to help implement changes. He sparred with the team occasionally and honed his skills to a fine edge. He doubted it would last forever but for now he was as fit and prepared as he could be. He was not sick, no, just tired. Tired in a bone deep way he normally associated with week long stakeouts in crawlspaces or rooftops with no protection from the weather. It would get better, it had to.


	10. Capture and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is captured soon after Natasha returns from her mission.

***

 

The team was doing it’s best to ignore the fact that they had been captured and stuffed into a too small cage. Most of their attention was focused on the limp form of their archer on the other side of the room. Clint had been tossed off a building and had a nasty looking cut to one side of his forehead and cheek. He lay limp and bleeding in a puddle of vomit.

Not long after they were caged Clint had started seizing turning the monologuing villain’s rant on him. Two of the grunts went to work on his shaking form, kicking with heavy boots, resulting in Clint vomiting weakly after one vicious blow to the stomach. He coughed and choked as they assaulted them before finally falling still, unconscious.

The rest of the team sat cuffed with blue metallic handcuffs that none of them could budge. Bruce was drugged and left cuffed in a corner of the cage to sleep it off while the rest of the team were cuffed to different sides of the cell, arms cuffed around the bars leaving them sitting or standing awkwardly inches from the bars. Tony had managed to escape in a malfunctioning suit so they just had to wait for him to bring in backup. For now they were left alone waiting for Clint to wake up.

They all twitched at the groan that slid from Clint’s throat as he slowly curled in on himself. He made another small sound as he pushed himself away from the puddle of sick. He made no move to acknowledge their whispered calls as he pulled himself up into sitting position, one hand holding his head. He watched them blurrily for a moment before dragging clumsy fingers through the pockets on his uniform. Pulled out his phone with a painful sounding laugh he slid it across the floor, they had not even bothered to search him. Natasha snatched it up and quickly activated the homing beacon, sending several coded messages out before hiding the phone in a pile of rags at the back of cell.

Steve made an ugly sound in the back of his throat when Clint collapsed back to the floor, seizures shaking his frame. Natasha began kicking at the still form Bruce made in the corner, until he groggily sat up.

“Wake up, Clint needs you.”

“What’s happening?”

“Clint fell. It looks like he has a concussion, he’s seized twice since we got here.”

“Natasha, I’m not a medical doctor.” Bruce said helplessly, eyeing the still form of the archer, not that he could see much without his glasses.

“But you are a genius, right? What would cause seizures?” she snapped.

“Severe brain injury, concussions, chemical imbalances, tumors. If he has a cranial bleed then the pressure and swelling pressing on his brain could be causing it.” Bruce said with a wince, rubbing at the side of his neck where they had injected him.

“What can we do?”

“Get him to a hospital?” Bruce offered helplessly.

“Right.” Steve muttered, twisting against his cuffs as they strained to watch the slow rise and fall of Clint’s chest.

About an hour later Natasha nudged him, Clint was moving again, not bothering to sit up as he searched his pockets for anything that might help. He ignored the small objects that fell out, slips of paper, coins, and what looked like a coiled bowstring before grabbing something and slowly turning onto his stomach and starting to drag himself toward them. One side of his face was a mass of blood and swollen flesh, his eye blackened and swollen shut. They ignored the fact that he could not seem to get his legs to cooperate and settled on letting them drag behind him as he pulled himself along one arm length at a time.

“Toss it to me, Clint.” Natasha said, her hands shaking slightly where they sat on either side of the bar she was cuffed to. Clint paused and coughed wetly against his arm before shakily starting to move again.

“Can’t Nat,” Clint slurred, “I’ll miss.” he grunted, struggling to force his body along.

“No you won’t, you never miss.” Natasha said softly watching his slow progress.

“Can’t hit what I can’t see.” He gasped, before stopping again, wracked by coughs. He didn’t see the others shifting as they itched to help in some way.

“Clint, how’s your head?” Bruce asked, trying to get more details.

“Fucking supernova, worst migraine ever.” he snarled, spitting a mouthful of blood to one side and struggling the last few feet to meet Natasha’s outstretched hands, dropping a small collection of lockpicks into her palm.

“What else is going on Clint? How’s your vision? Nausea? Broken ribs?” Bruce pressed as Natasha worked out of her cuffs and started on Steve’s.

“Down to one eye and it’s blurry, trying to ignore the nausea.” he said thickly.

“Think you can sit up?” Bruce asked hopefully.

“Depends if you want me to throw up or not.” he said with a small shudder, turning his face away.

“Once we get out of here are you going to be able to walk?...Clint?”

“He’s passed out again.” Steve said, eyeing where his shield was propped against the far wall.

“One of us is going to have to carry him out. If he does have a cranial bleed...if he does, then we need to get out of here now.”

“I will carry him, it would be my honor.” Thor said solemnly as Natasha finished with his cuffs and started on the door, scooping up a set of cuffs for R&D. Clint woke up as they were getting him up, struggling on autopilot, Natasha trying not to worry about how weak a struggle it was.

“Hey, Clint. Easy, we’re getting out, you have to stay quiet.”

“Sorry, Nat.” he choked, coughing weakly against Thor’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. Thor’s got you.” she said with a small wince as Thor hefted Clint higher against his side, his head lolling against Thor’s shoulder, feet not touching the ground.

“Nat, knife in my boot.”

“Why did they leave you with all the fun toys?” she teased gently as she removed the knife, gripping his ankle for a moment, trying to ignore how cold he felt.

“No point in looting the dead, Nat.” he offered with a bloody grin.

“Do not say that.” She snapped, tugging Steve forward to take the lead.

By some miracle they got out with little resistance considering that Shield and Tony were busy blowing up the outside of the compound. They rushed Clint to the evac helicopter and tried to stay out of the way as the medics triaged him. He seized twice more before they made it to base.

Hours of testing later Clint was returned to his hospital room and the team settled in to wait. Coulson was refusing to elaborate on Clint’s condition until he woke up beyond saying that it was not a cranial bleed. He disappeared for several hours returning to wait with them, excusing himself randomly to deal with several calls. During one of these trips out of the room Bruce checked the chart left at the foot of the bed but had to shake his head at their inquiring looks, beyond basic vitals and fluid rates from his IV, the chart was blank.

32 hours later Clint finally woke up for the final time, he had been in and out of consciousness thanks to a concussion and mild sedation. Natasha was there to catch his hands as he fought the blankets and calm him down enough for her to slip in his hearing aids.

“You worried us, Hawk.” she murmured, straightening the sheets. He glanced around the room at the others. One side of his face was a patchwork of black and green bruises alongside white bandages. The mumbled “Sorry” made them all wince.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Steve offered, “You were the one who got us out, after all.”

“You were a most valiant warrior.” Thor rumbled happily as Natasha gave him small sips of water from a paper cup.

Soon after the doctor came in and asked for a few minutes to examine Agent Barton leading to a general exodus, the team heading back to the tower to rest now that their archer was on the mend. Tony was already at the tower recuperating from a 24 hour manic binge of repair work on his armor and the final rescue battle. Agent Coulson and Natasha stayed at Clint’s insistence and a muttered, “Hate medical.” which got a small laugh out of Natasha and a stern glance from Coulson. Natasha settled on the bed next to him letting one hand run through his short hair as they waited on the doctor.

“Well, the good new is you only have a moderate concussion. The fractures to your cheek, occipital bones, and ribs should heal on their own and will not require surgery.” Dr. Marshall fidgeted with the chart, as he spoke looking anywhere but at his patient.

“What’s the bad news than?” Clint asked with a frown, fighting against the post battle exhaustion and pain medication in his system.

“We used CT and MRI scans to check for brain damage. We found something else instead.” the doctor paused fiddling with the chart before forging ahead, “I am afraid you have a several small masses, tumors, located in several different parts of your brain. Considering how strange you blood work looked we went ahead and did a full body scan. The cancer has already spread to your nasal passages, lymph nodes, and stomach. The larger tumors in the stomach can be removed with surgery but the masses in the brain are inoperable.”

Natasha was frozen against him, her fist tight in his hair. Clint forced himself to take a deep breathe.

“How long?” he choked out, forcing his mind and body into that space where everything but the final shot fell away, nothing mattered until the tension released.

“It is hard to say but considering how aggressive the cancer appears to be, a rough guess would be somewhere between six months to a year. With surgery and treatment that could be extended as far as three years.”

He gave a sharp nod and let the rest of the words flow around him, he could ask Coulson or Jarvis later. The several lines about more tests and having to stay several weeks in the hospital snapped his head back up.

“No, I’m going home.” he snapped, waving one hand at the doctor when he tried to protest. “I can come back for the tests and everything. We can schedule it all out with Jarvis.” he said with a slightly pleading look at Coulson.

“Will a few days wait effect his treatment at all?” Coulson asked in his best don’t fuck with me voice.

“Well, no but he could have another seizure...” the Doctor wavered, clearly not comfortable with simply discharging him.

“If he does then we will bring him back immediately and he will stay until you are ready to discharge him but for right now I think he needs to be home, do you agree?”

“Very well, I will get the nurse in to disconnect the IVs.” He said leaving the room to get the discharge paperwork.

Clint slid to the edge of the bed, letting his legs dangle off the edge, waiting on the nurse. Natasha was pulling things from a cabinet, a black t-shirt, pants, and a pair of his combat boots. The black pair of boxers with Captain America Shields all over them earned her a weak grin. The nurse came in and shooed everyone out so she could remove the catheter and IVs. That done he shed the cotton gown and slowly pulled on his clothes trying not to aggravate his bruised ribs. Natasha helped pull on and loosely tie his boots.

They rode back to the tower in silence, Clint leaning against Natasha as she stroked a hand through his hair. He managed to mumble a response to Jarvis’ greeting and went straight to his floor and bed. Natasha trailed behind him to help him pull off his boots and to curl against him when he curled up in bed holding him as he shuddered with a cold he could not shake.

  
  
  



	11. Explainations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint reveals his illness to the team.

 

***

 

He was allowed one day to sleep and fight through his nightmares with Natasha curled at his side before Coulson came back with a long schedule of appointments and tests that he would be going to. Coulson had changed his doctors and called in specialists, muttering about “Jackasses.” when asked why the last doctor had been replaced. Clint waited until Coulson was out getting everyone breakfast and Natasha was in the shower to send his new schedule to Jarvis.

 

“Jarvis?” Clint called softly.  
“Yes, Agent Barton?”

“Do me a favor and keep this quiet for a bit. I want to wait to tell the team until we know exactly what needs to be done.”

“As you wish, sir. I would like... to be of assistance...if you have any need of me, Agent Barton.”

“You already help a ton, J. You can always help Coulson and Natasha research everything. You know how ruthless they can be when it comes to collecting information, I might need my doctors to live through the experience.”

“I would be happy to assist in any way they or you need, Agent Barton.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.”

 

Later in the car on the way to Shield Clint poked at Coulson’s side, pulling his attention from the road for a moment.

“We need to find another sniper for the team.”

“No.” Natasha immediately snarled.

“Tasha,” Clint said with a small sigh, “I am just saying that if either of us get called out or I can’t make it.” Clint said in a rush, pausing to take a breath ignoring how it made his ribs twinge, “..for whatever reason then the team needs a back up. Heck, we could use a backup for when any of us are out on other missions.” She gave a grudging nod at that.

“Rather hard to find a backup for the hulk.” she pointed out stiffly,.

“What about bringing in other teams? We can’t all be in the same place at the same time. If we have advance notice we could pull in others to help.”

“We might be able to get the Fantastic Four or X-men to assist occasionally. It would not hurt to go ahead and see if they are willing.” Coulson allowed, “Having a backup for when team members are injured or unavailable would also make sense. We can see who at Shield might work and present the option to the team later this week.”  

Clint gave Coulson a small smile of thanks and settled back for the rest of the drive, he was in for a long day of tests and medical jargon.

  
  
***

 

By the end of the week they had a plan. Clint was not sure it was even a good plan but he would try as best he could for as long as he could if it would take the broken look from the back of Coulson’s eyes and the constant burn of anger from Natasha. He would go through a series of operations to remove the tumors that could be removed and weekly radiation for the rest once he recovered from the surgeries. His first surgery was Monday morning.

They had pulled a list of Shield staff would could be pulled in a pinch to substitute for each member of the Avengers and presented it to the team yesterday. Most of them had seen the benefit in having a backup just in case someone was injured or out of town on a long term mission. None of them were really happy with the fact that they would probably need to do training sessions with the various Agents upping their already busy schedules.

Clint sat picking at his dinner, ignoring how Natasha watched every small bite he took. The team was having a relaxed Friday night dinner arguing over what the movie would be that night. Bruce and Tony were arguing for Alien, while Steve and Thor argued for something they had not seen before. Coulson had joined them halfway through the meal on the excuse of needing to leave some paperwork for Clint and Natasha but stayed sipping at a cup of coffee.

The team had noticed his constant doctor’s appointments and bruises covering his arms and hands from the daily blood draws. Clint had begged off explaining until Friday, today.  Tony finally snapped as everyone was finishing up.

“So, Barton. You wanted to share something with the team?”

“Um, yeah.” Clint muttered, pushing his plate away and ignoring the glare from Natasha. The rest of the team watched frozen as their normal relaxed archer fidgeted and twisted his napkin between strong fingers, skin going white at the harsh grip.

“You know how I was called back a few months ago when Selvig passed away?” The team gave various murmurs of assent.

“Well, I was pulled mid mission because they were afraid that it was caused by exposure to the Tesseract. Since I was exposed they sent me straight to medical for tests. Everything came back negative.” He said, forcing his hand to release the napkin, dropping it across his plate, he was done anyway. “Well, thanks to the seizures on this last mission they tested me for everything again...this time they found something.” Clint swallowed, trying to get his scattered thoughts together. “They went back and checked Selvig and it turns out he was sick too, they missed it on the first run.”

“What exactly did they find?” Bruce asked gently.

“Cancer.” Clint said flatly, “I have my first surgery on Monday.” He shoved his chair violently out from the table and left, taking the stairs to the roof two at a time, ignoring the raised voices behind him. Coulson quickly stepped forward to stop anyone from going after him.

“Is this why you wanted us to all have back ups? So we’re covered when he dies?” Tony snarled, pushing away from the table to pace the kitchen.

“No, Barton insisted on that.” Natasha snapped. “I’m going to the gym before I kill one of you.” she said striding to the elevator and quickly disappearing behind the silver doors.

“The prognosis?” Bruce asked quietly. Coulson tugged at his tie, loosening it.

“Bad. You are welcome to see his medical records, Agent Barton has given the team permission. The best estimate anyone has given him is three years with near constant radiation or chemotherapy treatments, the most likely time table is between six months and a year. The cancer appears to be very aggressive and has already spread to several major organs.”

“Brain?” Bruce hazarded, visibly wilting at Coulson’s nod.

“Brain, stomach, and nasal passages. The surgery on Monday is the stomach and nasal tumors. They hope to shrink the brain tumors with radiation, that’s to start in a few weeks once he heals up a bit.”

“Surely something could be done, are there no healers of this cancer in this realm?”

“No, Thor. This is not something we can heal. We can make him comfortable and try to treat it as much as possible but there is no real cure when it has gotten this bad.”

“Perhaps I could ask the healers of Asgard if they would be willing to assist our Hawk.” Thor offered sadly.

“I would appreciate it if you would.” Coulson said simply. “The most the rest of us can do right now is assist him as we can.”

“Don’t.” Tony snarled, “We are not going to lose him.” he whirled and marched into the living room rapidly dialing his phone. They caught the first few lines of his conversation demanding that Pepper start looking for the best oncologists on the planet.

“What can I do to help?” Steve asked as he started gathering up the plates, Bruce moving automatically to help.

“Treat him the same as you always would.” Coulson said simply with a small smile. “I apologize for ruining your evening. Team meeting is next Wednesday barring any unforeseen attacks or complications.”

  
  
  
  



	12. Returning to the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint recovers from surgery at the tower and sorts out somethings.

***

 

He spent the week after his surgery in the medical wing on base sleeping. After two days the drains and packing were removed and he was downgraded to the not quite as good drugs. He fought to hide the pain from the four inch incision across his side from the team as he moved from the bathroom back to his bed, using his arms as much as possible to support his weight.

Luckily the tumors in his nasal passages had been small and would not need further treatment, he had not noticed that his sense of smell and taste had been changing, dulling as the tumors grew. His stomach was a different matter. He would be on a mostly liquid diet for at least a month before they would allow him to try and eat solid food. Now that he thought about it, he had already been mostly on the diet they outlined for the last few months anyway. He made a list of things he would need stocked in the fridge and bathroom on his floor on his tablet and forwarded it to Jarvis, his basic first aid kit would not include enough bandages for his incision.

Coulson and the doctors had thankfully not banned him from working on his tablet, Clint even helped the Agent work through some of his paperwork backlog in thanks. Clint and Coulson worked out scheduled training sessions for the snipers that they hoped would take his spot on the team. He wanted to see them in action before he endorsed anyone. Tony was vehemently against having a different sniper on the team and refused to take part in any training exercises.

It would be another two weeks at least before he was allowed to touch his bow and even then the doctors were cautioning him against starting back too soon. For once, Clint was in agreement. The surgeries had left him drained, even with the two units of blood he received, he felt lethargic and anemic. He never had been one to follow medical’s advice, instead trusting himself to know when his body was being pushed too far. Suddenly following the doctor’s advice seemed to be unnerving Coulson more than anything else.

He was ecstatic to leave the hospital, even if it was simply to shuffle to his bed in the tower and collapse. He at least could control how long everyone was visiting him there. The team had come out in support at the hospital, showing up for hours each day, barring Tony who only visited twice and seemingly under protest accompanying Pepper.Thor had left the planet for Asgard after a single visit, promising to search for a cure on his realm. They quickly ran out of things to discuss, with the team fighting not to mention the C word the visits became hours of tortured silence or inane chatter that left Clint gritting his teeth not to curse them out. Thankfully Coulson strictly enforced visiting hours for the team even if he excluded himself and Natasha from that rule.

In truth he did not have much in common with most of the team. Over the last year and a half he had found common ground with the team but none of them meshed with him as well as Natasha and Coulson. He still had too many hang ups in his past to ever trust someone easily.

With Bruce he could talk travel and some of the places they had both visited but Bruce had never been a fighter and could not comprehend how someone would base their life on it. They shared a similar childhood but it was something neither of them could talk about casually. Mostly they talked about cooking and food, which was just weird considering he would not be able to eat anything for weeks.

Steve visited and they talked about his service during the war with Coulson quietly fangirling in the background. In truth Steve had only spent about a year and a half actually fighting in the war, the rest of the time was spent selling war bonds. Clint had been in the Army, Shield, or working as a mercenary since he was 18. Steve was really only 27, even with his 70 year sleep. Clint was in his early thirties with most of his adult life spent in a constant state of battle.

He struggled not to fight about how black and white Steve’s view of the world was. Clint had learned at an early age that even those who meant to help you could do harm. His time in the Army had only reinforced that everything was grey, it was a thin line between a hero and a murderer. Black Widow and Hawkeye were the ones Shield called when someone needed to die and no other assassin could get close enough. Natasha watched most of these discussions with an air of restrained amusement, waiting for one of them to snap.

Worse than that, he was the safety valve on the Avengers themselves. He was the one with the tranquilizers for the Hulk. He was the one who knew every point of weakness in each version of Tony’s suits. He was the one with specially designed arrows to take out a god or a super soldier. He was Natasha’s safety net, just as she was his if they were ever compromised. She trusted him to make the kill shot if she could not shake whatever was controlling her.

He did not think the team realized how compartmentalized they had to be. Everyone around them saw the part they were playing, Hawkeye or Black Widow or the person they were for that particular mission. No one ever saw Clint beyond Coulson and Natasha, at least not until he had moved in to the tower. There he had no reason to be Hawkeye 24/7, he was able to relax and be himself like he only was around Natasha and Coulson, even if only Jarvis was watching. He hoped Natasha was able to do the same now that she was at the tower more.

Late at night, once they convinced Natasha to go sleep in a real bed for a few hours, he outlined changes to his will and things he wanted Coulson to try and work on for him. It was a surprisingly short list. Not to let Natasha disappear, to work to keep her as a Avenger and not let her lose herself in the wet work and assignments. He wanted his money to go to a fund for orphans that Jarvis would manage to make sure no one was misusing the funds.

He listed out his safe houses and stashes of equipment, even the ones that Shield had never known about. There was no point in leaving them to rot once he was gone,  Natasha could use them at the least. He also gave Coulson a list of all his contacts that could be used for at least one more favor once he was gone.

Natasha was a constant presence in his hospital room, camping out in a chair near Coulson, cleaning weapons or silently reading on her tablet. He did his best to defuse the tension and anger that filled her every motion but knew she would finally crack and lash out at those around her, it was how she dealt with things she could not control. This was not something she could fix for him. There was no one she could kill or threaten for information, there was no enemy to capture or base to infiltrate. She had never been allowed to have friends or people she trusted to have her back before him. Coulson and Clint were her only forms of release from the constant mask she wore day to day and she was about to lose one of the first people she had ever trusted with her true self.

Coulson seemed surprised at how calm he was with everything, with how much he had already planned out. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. Clint had always known he would be the first one to fall anyway, he was the only unaltered human on the team. Steve would last in good shape until he was at least 100 if he was going by the perfect human model. Natasha had been exposed to a modified super serum by the Red Room and would probably live just as long. Bruce would die of regular old age in his 80s or 90s since the Hulk probably would take care of any other issues with his healing factors. Tony would probably just invent new mechanical organs once his liver finally gave in to the booze and would force his body to stay in the game.

If none of them got taken out by life threatening injuries then they would all out live him by at least 20 years, if not more. Between his crap childhood, half a life of malnutrition, and a lifetime of gunshot wounds and broken bones, he doubted he would be able to stay in the field much past his late forties. He already had arthritis from dozens of fractures and breaks, his hands, wrists, and shoulders stiffed in the cold from the constant heavy use he had put them under. His legs ached near constantly from badly healed breaks and re-breaks. Hell, he fought in almost no armor, one shot to the head and he was dead. It meant that he went on every mission accepting that he could die, full stop, anything else was lying to himself.

He had known for a long time that he had about ten years of work left in him. He just never had any idea what he was going to do once those years were up. He had joked with Natasha about school and teaching or going off grid in some tiny town in a foreign country most people had never heard of. He had hoped he would go out in the middle of some epic battle, falling off a skyscraper or taking a shot to the head. He had hoped it would be clean and quick, without the years of a mindless or mangled body forced to live on until he died of old age and bedsores. Now he no longer had to wonder.

  
  


***

 

The team finally calmed down as he settled back into the tower and his rounds of radiation. Considering everything, he actually was starting to feel better. His headaches were more manageable as the radiation shrunk the tumors, with only the occasional blinding migraine shutting him down for a day or so. He still was on the liquid diet but at least he was not nauseous after eating or drinking anything. It was amazing how such a small difference improved his days.

He was gently teased by the team for the first few days after he had shaved his head. It helped make it easier for the technicians to locate the tiny tattoos that marked where each tumor was and where to direct the radiation. His skin was now covered with a handful of  tiny near invisible X’s along his scalp. At least he was not on chemotherapy yet so he still had his eyebrows. Chemo was the next step if any of the tumors did not respond to the radiation. The treatments made him tired but compared to days of nonstop pain it was better.

He spent his sleepless nights talking to Jarvis.They had become friends in some strange way since he moved in and he trusted him to handle the things he didn’t know what to do with so that Coulson would not have to. He worked out what to do with his books and the tools he had collected, trusting Jarvis to make sure it all went to someone who would need them. His weapons were all customized to his grip but they could at least be used for parts or something. He explained about the diagrams he and Shield had listing each Avenger’s weaknesses along with plans to take them out if needed. He explained the need for failsafes since even heroes could be seen as murderers if public opinion or policy changed, or even in the small chance that one of them went rogue. It was his job to see a mission from every angle and he pushed Jarvis to think the same way, to not just try and see things from the hero’s perspective. Jarvis existed to assist Stark, it was his primary goal so he needed to understand that even his creator could need someone to make sure all contingencies were covered even if they were never used.

Mostly he reminded Jarvis that they all needed to remember that they were in some way shape or form still human and no different from the people they were protecting or fighting against. It was only when people lost that distinction that errors were made. He had spent too many missions watching men most of the world would consider evil tucking their children into bed and kissing them goodnight. Even evil men had their moments of humanity.

They talked about his childhood and the missions and stories he had about each member of the team. Most of them were about Natasha and Coulson, he had known them for years. Years full of sweat, pain, blood, and tears. He talked and talked. He knew Jarvis was recording this and would let the team listen to it when they needed to hear these things. He was tempted to get Jarvis to send snippets to Natasha each night once he was gone but he did not think even he had enough words to last until she was ready to let go.

 

***

 

  
  



	13. Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson and Jarvis discuss Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire thing is one big unbeta-ed WIP. Please bare with me while I make corrections.

 

***

 

Coulson sighed, running a hand through his balding hair. He was contemplating getting a refill of the sludge Shield called coffee when a screen popped up with a request from Jarvis to talk.

“What do you need, Jarvis?” He asked once the line was open.

“I apologize for disturbing you but I have some information I feel compelled to share with you.”

“Has something happened? Is Clint alright?”

“Agent Barton is fine. He is currently sleeping.” Jarvis paused, “He requested that I assist you in any way I am able in researching his condition.”

“He always worries about Natasha or me, forgetting to take care of himself. Natasha’s the same way.”

“Part of my primary function is to monitor the health and well being of those under my care. As such, everyone in the tower was scanned for basic medical information until a baseline was established.”  
“So you have a record of his basic health for the last year and a half?”

“Yes, Liaison Coulson.” Jarvis made a small sound like clearing his throat. “Ideally a baseline is established the first week of stay and the sensors turned down to lower levels unless medical distress is noted. However, I was never able to get a standard base line on Agent Barton.”

“You were not able?”

“No, I observed Agent Barton the first few weeks of his stay and was concerned with his habits, when he requested I monitor his training to assist in tracking his progress I continued to monitor him in detail.”

“You left the higher scans on constantly for him.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“What kind of patterns did you see?”  
“At first I was concerned he was suffering from PTSD. He sleeps barely three to four hours a night, exercising to the point of exhaustion in order to get even that meager amount of sleep. From the day he arrived he made use of over the counter headache medications in excess, often alternating various types throughout the day. He rarely ate a full meal yet strove to keep himself fit and with adequate nutrients by supplements and protein bars or shakes. He suffered occasional migraines and fought with a sensitive stomach, overly spicy or greasy meals resulted in vomiting soon after the meal was complete. As the weeks progressed, his sleep slowly began to get better however his struggles with food and weight loss increased. He attributed the loss of weight to over training when questioned.”

“Clint cannot stand to be sick, he’s never really been allowed.” Coulson murmured, eyes tracking over the chart showing Clint’s weight slowly declining, blood pressure, hours of exercise and sleep, calorie intake, calorie expenditure, and medications taken. The small notation about an unknown sleep aid used once or twice a week caught his eye but it was to be expected. Other notations listed known and suspected injuries after each mission or battles and nose bleeds that occurred every few weeks.

“I am sorry to say I did not correlate the symptoms with his condition. Master Stark was originally concerned he was overworking himself but his hours of exercise and range time matched those recorded in his Shield files. Many of his symptoms matched those reported with PTSD and considering his history...If I may sir, he seemed so content or even happy most of the time I was willing to ignore the other possibilities.”

“Agent Barton has had a rough life, Jarvis, and he is very accepting of anything that he is able to term “better” then he has previously experienced. Considering most of his experiences border on outright abuse and neglect, just about anything above starvation is considered good. We have had many arguments about his versions of acceptable damage while on missions. He once said he joined the army so he had somewhere to sleep with guaranteed three meals a day.” Coulson said with a snort. “This is the man who claims to like eating MREs and electrolyte gel when on missions.”

Coulson smothered a small laugh, only the faint twitch of his mouth giving him away, “When he first joined Shield his version of training was so brutal we had two recruits severely injured while trying to keep up with him on a training run. It has taken years to mellow him out to the level he is at now and last time we let him train a group of snipers he had them collapsing from exhaustion after nearly twenty four hours straight of maneuvers. Natasha is the only one on base who can even hope to keep up with him when he decides to lose a tail and that’s probably because he lets her. Natasha may be our best infiltration op agent but he’s the best agent we have for disapearing in plain sight and covert ops. If he ever decides to go off grid we will never find or hear from him again unless he wants us to”

“Liaison Coulson, do you believe he will survive this?”

“I believe that his is the strongest person I know. He has survived thousands of days of torture and hardship in his life. He is a fighter, Jarvis, this is just another battle for him.”


	14. Charts and Graphs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha hash out a chart for the other team members listing things that might set off a reaction.

 

***

 

Clint’s life slowly fell back into a rhythm. Every other week he had radiation Tuesday and Thursday. He continued to feel anemic and tired but overall it was not bad. The days he had treatment he was at Shield medical for the morning, returning to the tower to curl up and spend the rest of the day working on his tablet or reading. His non-treatment days were the same as before, he trained and studied.

Somehow Coulson had wrangled two more bachelors degrees from his various classes, one in history and one in engineering. Clint looked over the pieces of paper in Coulson’s office before handing them back with a small grin.

“Are you going to take any other classes?” Coulson asked his normal bland mask in place. Clint listed off the tiny tells he was sure only Natasha and him would have been able to spot, the small stain on the edge of one cuff, the wrinkled pants, a faint puffiness to his features, small smudges of ink on his right hand. Coulson was stressed and working even more than he normally did, Clint doubted he had left base in the last three days at least.

“Might as well. I still have a ton of books that Stark got. I’ll have Jarvis send you the ones I have been looking at.”

“I’ll register you for the exams. How long do you want to study?”

“A few weeks?” he offered with a shrug, “Doesn’t matter, I’ve been reviewing the material for while now.” Once their meeting was over Clint cornered Coulson’s secretary making sure she arranged his schedule so he got out of the building for lunch the rest of the week, even if it was for a lunch meeting. He needed to make sure Coulson took better care of himself. Nat and the Avengers would need him once he was gone. Maybe they could do a group vacation and force Coulson to come? They all could use a few days down time. Maybe he could sell it to Steve as a team bonding thing, something to think on.

He was able to start training and going to the range now that his incision was healed, and finally felt like he might be able to breath again. The other Avengers clearly did not approve of him continuing to workout and train at his normal level but he did his best to ignore it, it kept him sane. Natasha happily threw him to the mats over and over and neither of them would tell the others that it was not the full out fight they normally would have had.

He even went on a short mission with the Avengers when they were called out for a bank robbery where some alien tech was being used. Clint was stationed on a nearby building and was able to take out the getaway vehicle by shooting out the tires. It was over rather quickly, the tech rounded up and sent to R&D, even almost two years out they were still finding alien tech floating around from the invasion.

They rode back to the tower to debrief, Clint allowing everyone to fuss over him in some small way with restraint, he shared a suffering glance with Natasha. He never understood the constant need people seemed to have to touch each other constantly. Nat and him had long discussions about it over cold vodka and weapons cleaning/sharpening, gun oil mingling with the cold wash of the alcohol. Thanks to their childhoods, it was ingrained that touch meant pain, it was something Natasha had trained to ignore, allowing her to act perfectly normal in her covert ops even if she prefered not to be touched.

Clint had not managed to become accepting of most casual touches, as long as he was aware of it in advance he could brace himself to not lash out at a friendly touch but it was not something he sought out. The relationships he had did not involve much touching beyond checking injuries or borrowing weapons as needed in a fight. In a fight he knew Coulson or Natasha would be touching him to have his back and assist, not to stab him. He could tell their touches, one from the other, in the pitch black darkness while his body and mind thrummed with adrenaline, mid battle while everything was sharp and fast.

He could not say the same for the rest of the team, their touch set alarm bells ringing making his body tense and his breath fast. Strangely, only Bruce was exempt from this, he restricted touches beyond a quick medical check of scrapes or sprains and a small quick touch on one wrist, there and gone before Clint fully registered the movement. The rest of the team resorted to spine breaking slaps to the back that he instinctively tried to dodge or quick squeezes to the shoulder which had him fighting not to break out of the implied hold. To sum up, it was making him nuts.

Once the debrief was over he escaped to go change, agreeing to come back down for a team dinner and movie night. Natasha was waiting for him curled on his couch once he finished showering.

“They mean well.” She offered him gently, giving a small smirk at his sigh.

“I know, I think that somehow makes it worse. How do you explain to people who are supposed to be your teammates and friends that you don’t like them touching you?”

“We could make a chart.”

“A chart?”

“Of what is acceptable and what is not. For both of us.” Clint paused in pulling on his shirt, watching her for a moment.

“You sure?”

“We are trained to kill. We might as well make sure the team does not do something stupid and make us kill them.” He settled on the floor, eying the new couch that had been delivered last week, it was sleek and modern, a firm grey pillow that curved to form the back or could be collapsed into a flat bed. One of the couches one the common floor had also been replaced with something similar. Natasha seemed to approve of the change with the way she was curled in one corner with a pillow in her lap. “Good point.” he conceded. “Jarvis, can you take notes for us?”

“I would be happy to. How would you like me to lay out the chart?” One panel of the window next to them filled with a simple chart, columns blank and waiting.

“Known triggers for each of us, general things that are ok if we are aware it is about to happen, things that are always ok versus things that are sometimes not ok.”

“Sometimes not ok?”

“We all have bad days.” Nat pointed out.

“How about a column for each with Always Ok, Never Ok, and Ask First?”

The list was massive with a body outline included to one side with several parts marked as never touch for each of them. Many of their triggers overlapped but not all of them. Neither could stand to be pinned down in any way shape or form, forcing them into a corner would result in them doing anything possible to get out to a more defensible position.

“We should ask Coulson to add any we missed.” Clint muttered eying the chart, his head knew it was needed but it made his skin crawl to allow outsiders to know this much about his weaknesses. He was sure it was twice as bad for Natasha, he could not believe she was offering to do this.

“This is why we don’t date.” he sighed, slightly depressed to see all his issues laid out like this, it read like an S&M scene gone wrong. No restraints of any kind, no holding wrists or neck, no smothering or cutting off vision or breath, no crowding or restricting movement, no sudden touches out of line of sight.

“So... how do we tell the team without them taking it wrong? You know they are going to go over every time they have touched either of us, trying to figure out if it was wrong or not once they see this.”

Nat gave a blithe shrug, “They are going to do that no matter what we say.”

“Yeah.” Clint sighed. This was going to suck.

They decided to give everyone the night to relax before springing this on the group at breakfast. The reaction was about as they had expected. Thor took the charts and disappeared to discuss it with Jane. Tony ignored the entire thing and simply said Jarvis would warn him if he was about to get stabbed. Steve looked shell shocked, going over every move he had made with the two assassins trying to see where he had made things worse. Bruce simply asked if he could make a list of his own with things that set off the Big Guy. Coulson calmly informed Jarvis that he would be adding a few items to the lists that were missed. The next few days were tense for the team but Clint acted like he always did around the team and slowly things went to normal, even if the team did ask him before touching or sitting next to him and Nat now.

 


	15. Cameras and Mics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is forced to face the media.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder, this entire work is unbeta'd and WIP. I will be updating the previous chapters this week to correct grammar and spelling issues.

 

***

 

Just to add to the insanity that was his life, Marketing and Miss Potts was pushing for him to start attending interviews with the other Avengers. He was fairly certain only Coulson knew he did occasionally attend one of the events, hidden in the crowds as just another reporter. You never knew when security would miss the guy with a gun and let him get a shot off at one of the heros. Not everyone was a fan after all and one sniper knew where to look for another. It was the least he could do while the rest of the team was forced to stand around for photo ops and random questions.

He had already stopped one group against cruelty to animals planning to cover Thor in red paint for wearing fur, pointed security toward one of Stark’s exes that was hoping to taze him as he walked past, and one guy who was getting a psych eval via Shield for trying to sneak in several guns and extra ammo to take out the entire team. Thankfully Coulson agreed that he was just too valuable to the team as an unknown variable.

He still had a bit of a reputation from his mercenary days that if word got out it would be  used against him simply because it would bring the rest of the team down with him. Thankfully, being an assassin left few true enemies alive long enough to come back to haunt him. The main issue was “Why would Captain America want to be on a team with  a gun for hire?”. People were still complaining about them having Hulk on the team since he was a mindless beast no matter how many times Shield provided footage of him clearly talking or making decisions to protect other members of the team.

Coulson had finally caved to an interview with one of the major networks where he would never be seen and his voice ran through shield synthesizers to distort the sound to that of a cultured British accent which made him sound far too much like Jarvis. The entire situation reminded him a bit too much of several hostage situations. At least he got to wear his normal downtime Shield uniform and skip the hair and makeup, he was already wearing enough makeup thanks to the chin and cheek pads, hairpiece, and contacts he was wearing just in case anyone in the studio was stupid enough to try and take a picture while the place was crawling with operatives. He sat in an uncomfortable chair to one side of the stage plunged in shadows. His interviewer perched on an elegant armchair sipping coffee while the last of the camera crew fiddled with things.

Frankly most of the questions they were asking were ridiculous.

 

Q: What was his favorite brand of bow?

A: He had no idea, his were custom made.

Q: Why did he prefer the bow over the gun?

A: A gun could be used to kill, full stop. A bow was more versatile and quieter.

Q: But you do use a gun on occasion?

A: Yes, he did.

Q: How do you like working on a team full of superpowered beings?

A: Fine.

Q: What do you do in your downtime when not working for the Avengers?

A: No comment.

Q: Surely every member of the team has things they do when they are not working?

A: Of course they do, and it is probably the exact same thing most of the audience does after work. We are human after all. Cooking, reading, watching TV, normal everyday things.

Q: And what normal everyday things would Hawkeye be doing?

A: Any of the above.

Q: So you cook?

A: Everyone cooks occasionally.  

(Coulson was signing at him to stop treating like an interrogation.)

Q: What about TV? Do you have a favorite show?

A: Never really had time to keep up to date on current series. We sometimes have team movie night after a mission.

Q: And what do you watch?

A: It varies, right now we are watching old classics to get Thor and Steve up to date.

 

It was one of the stupidest conversations Clint had ever had, a blind date from hell where he was not even allowed to be himself or able to charm his way out since they could not see his face. The voice synthesizer stripped the emotion out of his voice, delivering every word in a bland deadpan style that made him seem robotic.

It was a massive waste of time. The reviews and articles that came out after the interview said much of the same. The world apparently wanted to meet Hawkeye even if it meant that he would lose the anonymity that allowed him to work for Shield. The only way that was going to happen was if he came out as Clint Barton as well as Hawkeye, which would signal the end of his missions as a sniper for Shield.


	16. Snipes and Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and the team audition replacement snipers.

***

Auditioning the other snipers with the team was just painful. He had narrowed the field down to a group of five snipers who were the top marksmen for Shield and had enough training to fill most of the holes his removal would cause in the team. None of them were a good long term match. Most either had personalities that would conflict with the team or were not interested in being in that high profile a position.

  
The team had went over the files on each candidate before the current demonstration and were now running drills with each candidate trying to see who worked best with the group. None of the Avengers were giving it their all and they each had complaints about each candidate. The problem was that most of their complaints were valid.

  
Two of the snipers refused to be responsible for taking out the Hulk with a tranquilizer dart or arrow, none of the group used a bow which meant they would have to build and trial large bore adamantium tipped darts for a sniper rifle which so far had not worked at all and only pissed off the Hulk more. The Hulk had learned that the archer was a friend and did not fight when he aimed an arrow his way. Guns however meant pain and danger in every encounter the Hulk had with them, it could take years to retrain him away from that association considering he was often shot at during missions.

  
Several of the other candidates were amazing snipers but lacked the situational awareness or strategic thinking to allow them to assist actively in missions outside of the role of a simple sniper. If a mission went FUBAR as they often did than the other members of the team would be left to pick up the slack. Even Steve pointed out how none of them seemed willing to throw themselves into the exercises which meant they might hesitate to come to the team’s aid during a mission. Any of them might work for a short term fill in role if Clint had to be out on a mission but none would be his replacement.

  
Clint had been working with Steve trying to get him certified to fly the quinjets so they at least had another pilot if both Natasha and him were out of commision. He was working with the Captain on his hand to hand and had pushed Natasha to start schooling him as well. He pushed the rest of the team to cross train as much as possible, all of them taking a turn using the Captain’s shield and working on getting Tony to catch others without causing broken bones or massive bruising in the process.

  
Coulson kept him back to discuss their options in his office once the rest of the Avengers had left.  
“Morales might be the best choice for now.” Coulson said offering Clint a scone while he finished mixing the coffees.  
“She refuses to tranq the Hulk.”  
“Stark is already working on a delivery system for Natasha’s bite and for a rocket dart for his armor. We can move the timeline on that up.”  
“Still leaves us without a full time team member if I’m out, sir.”  
“There is one other possibility, she was not included in the original pool.” Coulson amended handing over another file.  
“She just started high school, sir.” Clint said with a sigh, skimming the file.  
“Shield has had an eye on her as a potential protege for you. This is sooner than we had planned to tap her but it is still an option to start getting her trained and ready for deployment once she graduates.”  
“Great, she does know people die on missions right?”  
“She’s willing to learn and steadily improving.”  
“Fine, Coulson, set up an appointment on the range for her so I can see how she does.” he said handing the file back. Maybe he could get her working with the other trainers on base until she was up to his level.

Two days later he was practicing on the range on base waiting on Kate Bishop to arrive. Half of the range had been closed for his appointment since she was not contracted with Shield yet, allowing him to shot without ear protection which was always a bonus. The Weapons Quartermaster and the head of R&D were watching from a back corner waiting for him to finish so they could corner him about the new designs he was working on. It was going to be a long day.

  
Kate, call me Katie, arrived and he set her to work demonstrating her speed, flexibility, and aim. The first time he took her feet out from under her she cursed him out. He responded with a grin asking if her mother kissed that mouth.

“You can’t trust that your footing is going to be secure, stable, or permanent on a mission. You need to be able to move at a moments notice. Take a walk, I want an arrow in a target for every shooter’s slot, no stopping.”  
“That’s ridiculous! No one can do that.” Clint gave her another grin and grabbed a quiver and bow. He did it at a run.  
“You should try it on horseback.” he said flatly, breaking down his bow and stowing it in its case. “Start practicing. When you can hit the bullseye while moving I’ll reconsider taking you on as a trainee. As you are, Morales will be training you until you can show me you’ve improved.”  
“But..”  
“No, no buts in combat, Darling. Show me you can improve and I’ll reconsider. Until then keep practicing.” He said grabbing up his gear and heading over to the group of watchers which now included Coulson.  
“How did she do?”  
“Not bad. Good sight and aim but she lacks the mobility and strength to pull it off. She’s going to need at least a year of training before she can start moving off to real mission conditions. She wouldn't survive basic boot camp right now.”  
“What do you suggest?”  
“Get her hand to hand training, work on flexibility, stamina and strength training, and shooting while in motion. Maybe by this time next year she could run a modified sniper course if she rises to the challenge.” he said watching her pace off the slots, clearly fighting the natural hitch in her stride as she released. Considering his last check up, it was doubtful he would even be here in a years time. Plastering a pleasant expression on his face he turned to the Quartermaster and began explaining how he expected the new designs to work and what improvements he was planning to work on. Coulson did not look impressed and settled back against a divider wall taking notes as he watched Miss Bishop shoot.


	17. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is attacked after a mission on the helicarrier.

 

***

 

Clint suppressed a sigh at the hostile looks he was getting as he made his way to the showers off of the main gym. The team was back on the helicarrier after a villain decided to use massive sharks as his own personal arsenal against the coast guard. He was never going to be able to watch Shark Week again.

Thankfully the showers were deserted since the helicarrier was just now coming off alert. He showered quickly trying to come up with a good excuse for why he was carrying a knife in the shower. Less than ten minutes later he was dressed and headed back to the bridge.

He ignored the small group trailing behind him for the first two hallways before he turned and headed for a more deserted stretch of deck. He stopped and leaned against the wall as they bracketed him, he had eight ways to get out but all would result in severe injuries to either himself or the ones surrounding him. He settled back, looking relaxed, slouched against the wall but in truth he was ready to move in an instant.

They started with verbal abuse that he refused to respond to but that quickly escalated into slaps and shoves before devolving into an all out brawl with boots and fists hitting every part of his body as he tried to curl into a ball and protect his head. He made no move to defend himself beyond guiding some of the harsher blows to deflect to one side. He recognized most of the people and knew why this was happening, each had lost someone on the carrier when he brought Loki on board. This was vengeance for his actions.

Once it was over and the last glob of spit had stained his uniform he slowly uncurled and took stock. Every inch of him was bruised, he had several cracked ribs and a black eye thanks to a lucky shot when he was trying to avoid getting his collarbone broken. He mentally tallied off every blow to each injury as he slid into the vent system and made his way to the rooms Coulson kept on the carrier but almost never used. He took another shower and tended his injuries, taping his ribs and dealing with the split skin. Changing into a spare set of clothes he ran the possibilities of getting off the carrier without anyone on the team seeing him or running into Coulson or Fury, it was depressingly low.

Coulson would know by now that his room sensors had been tripped. Pulling himself back into the vents he made his way to the helideck, if he could sign out the jet ahead of the team he could prevent a reveal until they landed back at the tower. Somehow his luck held, he was first to the jet and went ahead and started the flight checks so they were ready once the team trooped aboard. Coulson settled in the copilot seat yet did not question his visible bruises, he spent the trip sending out texts and one short phone call to Fury with single syllable responses.

Once they reached the tower Coulson held him back, letting the others disembark and head in.

“If you tried to hide this out of some strange sense of guilt or need for punishment I will see your range access removed for the rest of the year.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect a report on my desk of exactly what happened on the helicarrier with the names of the involved parties by the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson gave him a brisk nod and left heading back to his own office in the tower.

Clint finished the final checks on the jet and made his way to his rooms avoiding the common areas for now. Unknown to him the group of assailants were already arrayed against one wall of the large conference room with Fury pacing before them.

 

“There are quite a few things I don’t understand about this situation and I can swear to you by the end of this night I will have full understanding of this incident or I will not be the only one missing body parts.” The soldiers arrayed before him winced in unison. “Explain to me how on a ship full of highly trained officers, some say the best in the world, it was decided that it is OK to attack a fellow crew member.” One of the assailants twitched like he was going to answer, drawing Fury’s attention. “Shut up! I am not finished. You will not move, speak, or breathe until I am finished, is that understood?” A ragged chorus of Yes, Sir filled the room.

“Explain to me how a group of the highest trained officers and crewmen and women on the planet decided it was a good idea to attack a fellow officer while on base... in a corridor that is continually monitored? We have some very enlightening footage of the event, footage that will be examined and used in setting your punishments.” He paced before them stabbing them each with his gaze.

“What part of your non-existant brains... decided it was a good idea to attack one of the most highly trained assets on this base? Tell me that. I can guarantee the only reason any of you are still alive is because he allowed you to leave that hallway in one piece. The man you attacked decided to let you pummel him to the ground and allowed you to beat him.”

“Yes, allowed you. He allowed the men and women who he has worked with for years to attack him. He knew you were following him and deliberately altered his course to take you to a deserted part of the ship so that you would not be interrupted or pull any other innocents into the fight.”

“Did you even think about that? How the rest of the crew is going to react knowing that one of their own was attacked on a ship that should have been one of the safest places on earth? To know that someone we are supposed to see as a brother was attacked by his very family in his home? Because of you, ladies and gentlemen, every crew member is going to have to go through mandatory psych evals to make sure you have not traumatized them farther and to make sure that such an attack never happens again.”

“Agents, you do not have to like your family but by god, you are expected to have their back. You planned and executed an attack against a family member, and that is unacceptable.” Fury strode to the other side of the conference table, settling into a large leather chair. “Now, one at a time I want each of you to explain to me exactly what you did in the attack and what you hoped to accomplish with such an idiotic plan.”

  
  
  


***

 

Clint spent the next two weeks in the vents more than out. If he could be attacked at the carrier than what was to stop him from being attacked on base or even at the tower? He spent hours reworking the security to protect the tower and locking out everyone from his rooms. Even the vent access to his room now had locks. The one time he had ventured out on the second day, Natasha and he had a knock down drag out screaming fight in the main common kitchen in front of the entire team. She did not understand how he had allowed them to trap and attack him, it should have been impossible with his training. When she finally snapped and lashed out, he made no move to block or dodge. She stared at him wide eyed as blood slid from the split skin on his cheek, a bruise already blooming.

“I shouldn’t have to dodge from family.” he said flatly ignoring the small wounded sound that slid from her throat, turning he left the room, heading to the range.

 

Hours later she sought him out, hovering by the door until he finished the quiver he was shooting.

“They aren't family.” she whispered, coming up to stand next to him.

“They used to be,” he told her tiredly, “before you joined me and Coulson, they used to be.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t blame them.” He held up a hand to stop her. “It had to happen eventually. They won't tell me how many I killed directly but it’s not hard to spot those who died because they took an arrow to the chest. When family betrays you it hurts worse than any other blow.” He gave a pain filled chuckle, “Family knows where to slid the blade in and just how to twist the knife to make it torture. I took that knowledge and attacked the carrier, whether or not it was really me calling the shots, it was my body and brain causing the damage. Their brother attacked them so they needed to show me that I was no longer family. You would think I would be used to it by now.” He said calmly gathering another quiver and starting to shoot again.

  
  


***

 

After the next debrief Tony grabbed Coulson before he could leave.

“What was the punishment for the Agents who roughed up our hawk, Agent?”

Coulson surveyed them with a cool expression before raising one eyebrow.

“What agents?” he asked gathering his things and heading out the door.

“You don’t think he meant...” Bruce trailed off.

 

Coulson smiled as he finished the last of the transfer orders for the fifteen Agents and Officers that had attacked his asset. They would be working every crap op in the worst locations on earth until the current director stepped down and possible after that if Coulson had any say in the matter. Shield never let go of its assets, they would be working for Shield until death and possible even after that if they had forgotten to fill out the paperwork so that R&D would not be using the cadavers for experimentation.

 


	18. Migraines and Bullies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is ambushed while walking home.

 

***

 

Clint tried to ignore the building migraine as he made his way back to the tower, detouring at a supermarket for some protein bars and runner’s gel. He had been at Shield Medical for the last ten hours. The doctors had not been happy with his injuries from the attack on base even a week later and had insisted on a full body scan and blood work up.

He was making his way steadily toward the subway when he spotted the tail. He ducked down a side street and wove his way back toward Shield using back streets only to be cut off again and again. Mercenaries in civilian gear wandered the last five streets he had passed. With this many attackers he could not take to the roofs and risk them deciding to take him out from below. He grabbed his phone, setting off the emergency beacon as a group slid into the alley ahead of him blocking his route, his tails, two hulking men, pulled up behind.

“Listen boys, I don’t know what you want but you don’t want to do this.” he said calmly, eying the possible exits.

“Our boss wants a word with the Hawk.” One of the minion look alikes replied with a nasty smile.

“Pity, I don’t want to talk.”

“Everyone talks eventually.” The goon said with a grin as the others stepped forward.

Clint did not bother to suppress his own manic grin as the men rushed towards him. Natasha would be proud, with this many fighting against him he didn’t try and play nice, going for blow after blow that would kill or maim, aiming to lay them out as quickly as possible. With every set of goons he took out another wave would appear boxing him in. He slid through them like a fine blade.

He managed to work the fight farther away from the main street, leaving a trail of blood and bodies. He took out the last fighter beside him, ignoring the screams as he broke their arm and kicked out the joint in his knee. A shout of “Clint, Down!” had him dropping like a rock as Captain America’s shield took out the last two fighters before ricocheting back into his hands.

“You alright?” Cap asked as Clint flipped himself to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins making him twitch for the next move, the next strike.

“Never better. Thanks for the help, the team have the rest?” he asked holstering his gun and tearing off a bit of one goons shirt to clean his knife so he could sheath it.

“Yeah, kind of stupid to fight this close to a Shield base. Agents took out most of the ones on the main streets.” Steve said eying the blood splatter covering Clint’s shirt.

“Nice of them.”

They headed back down the alleys to where Shield had set up a command base, Clint occasionally stopping to snag a throwing knife he had used. A side street was filled with black SUVs. Natasha strode up and followed by his side as they make their way to the central SUV. Clint was immediately pulled in to sit on the tailgate while a medic checked him out, ignoring Clint’s protest that they barely touched him.

He was still in mission mode and every touch reminded him of lines of sight and vulnerable points on the bodies next to him, making him shudder with the need to move, escape. Of course Coulson noticed and demanded a report. Clint forced himself to settled back, closed his eyes and quickly outlined the tests, migraine, walk to the store, and trying to lose the tail while limiting civilian exposure to the fight. Coulson quietly slipped an Imitrex out of his kit and gave it to Clint for his migraine, it should kick in by the time they are back at the tower. He had started carrying them after an utter clusterfuck of a mission left Clint with a migraine the size of the sun during a two day hike back to civilization, only Coulson’s voice on the com urging him on and keeping him vertical.

He fell into debrief mode, his eidetic memory reeling out each blow and strike as they landed, each bone broken, each neck snapped. He doesn't see the dawning looks of horror on Steve and Tony as he lists each death, his voice calm and without emotion. Coulson simply recorded the entirety of it as he always did, it will get added to the file once he submitted his written report. Once the debrief is over Natasha helped him into one of the SUVs to head home murmuring that he might have beat his previous hand to hand record in a fight. Clint knew there was a witty comment he should respond with but his brain was shutting down now that the adrenaline was draining away.

Back at the tower he collapsed into the bed on his floor, the rest of the team following behind still talking. Natasha quickly helped him strip and get into bed, her deft fingers going over his clothes and removing each weapon, laying them out to be cleaned, tallying up which ones are missing from his kit. The shirt was a total loss, ripped, blood stained, and cut off by the medics.The light jacket he had been wearing was mostly in one piece, if blood soaked, she added it to the pile to toss in the tub to soak.. Clint shifted and tried to stretch out his arms, he had strained his back and shoulders in the fight.

“Want a rub down?” Natasha asks gently already moving to get the muscle rub. Clint watched her muzzily, the drugs already dulling the ache and shutting down his brain to higher thought. He knew she would stay until he woke up and was functional, he did the same for her when she was drugged.

“Pulled my shoulder.” he murmured once she was back in the room, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Natasha merely hummed in response, straddling his hips in one smooth motion like he was not naked except for a pair of black boxers, they both had been on too many missions in close quarters to be body shy, not that it was an issue for Clint after growing up in the circus. He happily groaned as her strong hands worked at the knots forming. The old and new bruises were announcing their presence and abuse already, he would hurt in the morning. He knew Nat was committing the scars on his body to memory as he had done for those that covered her, documenting the ones that had happened while she was on her last covert op. They both ignored the innuendo filled comments that Stark tossed their way. He did his best to ignore the fact that the rest of the team was trying to get Tony calmed down in what was quickly turning into a loud argument that made him want to pull out his hearing aids, something he would not do while injured with others in the room. Once she was done she tossed a blanket over his hips and left to wash her hands.

“He’s not going to be coherent until the morning thanks to the migraine meds. Come back in the morning and bring breakfast.” Natasha instructed, requesting for Jarvis to dim the lights and cool the room before waving the others away as she settled on the couch with a book. Tony of course protested getting thrown out of a room he technically owned at least until Clint whined at the noise, trying to cover his head with a pillow.

“Idiots, he has a migraine. He took out almost thirty attackers with a migraine. He needs to rest. Out!”

The others quickly filled out with Bruce pausing to offer to take a shift later tonight if she needed it. Natasha waved him off but did at least thank him first.

“Take out your hearing aids, idiot. Sleep, I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“Thanks, Tash.” Clint said, happily setting his hearing aids in their case on the dresser. Drifting off to sleep to the smell of gun oil as Natasha broke down his side arm before starting to clean the various knives still spotted with dried blood.

  
  


***

 

Clint fell into his normal after mission mode the next few days. He continued to work out and use the range even if it was for only a few hours and mainly consisted of light stretches and working with a simple practice bow and plain tipped arrows. The team excepting Natasha were clearly not approving of him not resting. Bruce simply came down and watched the two of them do stretches in the gym before Nat left to complete the rest of her work out. Clint claimed a treadmill and pulled out his hearing aids. He ran at an easy pace until Nat came to collect him, trying to convince his sore muscles that they wanted to stretch and bend. Steve was sitting talking to Bruce with a sketchbook across his knees when he went back to the mats to cool down and do more stretches with Natasha, letting her brace against his body to get the deeper stretches.

“You talk him down?” Clint asked Bruce as he toweled off and collected his things. Steve had disappeared back to the upper levels somewhere, probably the common floor, he claimed the light was good there for drawing.

“They’re just worried you’re doing too much too fast.” Bruce offered looking tired, he had been spending a lot of time in the labs with Tony talking him out of various areas of research.

“And since you’re the Doctor they asked you to take a look.”

“Something like that.” Bruce said with a small smile, offering a water bottle to Clint and Natasha once she joined them. “Considering your lifestyle you have to have a system for recovery. I don’t think any of us have a say in changing it as long as Coulson is happy.”

“Exactly.” Natasha said with a snort, “None of the team seems to get that we do this for a living.” she shared a suffering look with Clint. They often ran into trouble with other handles or junior officers thinking that their reputation was exaggerated and not actually earned.

“If anything it just shows that we need to set up a support system for the rest of us if anything happens. I’m trying get Tony to put in a medical bay in the building so we can treat small injuries and go straight to our own bed if we want. It might also be a good idea to have a real doctor on staff for larger things like compound fractures or gunshot wounds.” Bruce pointed out. “I even still get some damage bleed through with the Hulk on occasion like burns. Who knows what could hurt Steve or Thor that bad but it could happen. Might as well be prepared for anything.”

Clint froze, his mind suddenly struck with the image of him dying alone at Shield base in a plain white medical room. He had no idea if dying at the tower would be any better but at least it would not be in a base where half the people there still held a grudge against him. Natasha nudged him with a what amounted to a look of concern from her, a slight eyebrow quirk and a faint tightening of her mouth. He waved her off and stood gathering up his things.

 

“I’m going to go clean up, we still cooking lunch, Bruce?”

“Sure, help me figure out what to make.” he said with a soft laugh following him to the elevator and stepping off onto the common level, leaving Natasha and him to continue to their own floors.

“Clint.”

“Leave it, Nat.”

“No.” she said following him off the elevator and into his rooms. He sighed and started stripping for his shower not batting an eye when Natasha stripped and beat him to the bathroom getting the showerheads where she liked them. She simply watched him as they bathed quickly, toweling off and pulling on one of his bathrobes to follow him into the bedroom as he dried off and dressed, taking a seat in the armchair to one side to dry her hair.

“Clint.”

“Which would you want,” he said with a sigh, stepping into his boots and strapping on his normal weapons, “to die in medical on a Shield base or to die here at the tower in a room built because you are dying?” he asked, pausing to watch her reaction. She had no answer and simply watched him back face blank.

“Exactly.” he said with another sigh, pulling out a book and heading for the elevator.

 

Lunch was grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup. Clint was just happy he had graduated up to eating real food again and even managed to finish most of his plate, half a sandwich and a cup of soup, ignoring the fact that Steve and Darcy had put away almost an entire loaf of bread between them.

Bruce pulled him into a discussion of the books he had been reading and they managed to get most of the team debating why young adult books were so popular right now and what their favorite series was. Steve had not read most of the books being discussed so Tony stole his stark pad to load up the mentioned series for him.

Clint crashed out on the new common room couch settling in to study while Bruce settled in with his own book in a nearby chair. It did not take long for the exhaustion to catch up with him leaving him curled up on  the couch, book clutched against his chest. Steve wandered in after finishing cleaning up the kitchen and fetching his sketchbooks and pencils settling down in one of the fluffy couches.

“He been asleep long?”

“Around fifteen minutes or so.” Bruce said trying to go back to his book only to keep getting interrupted.

“He’s been looking tired lately.” Steve said looking uncomfortable.

“He’s doing ok, it’s just the treatments. If he does not start showing more progress soon the doctors are going to start him on chemotherapy, than he will be sick. Right now he’s just tired.”

“The chemo, what is that going to do to him?” Steve asked, eyes watching the slow rise and fall of Clint’s chest, fingers fiddling with a pencil.

“It varies but most people have severe nausea and trouble eating, exhaustion, muscle pain.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah, he might as well sleep while he can, anyway he has exams tomorrow.”

“Exams?”

“He takes classes and is going to take the final exams for several tomorrow morning.”

“He’s in college?” Steve asked, eying the taciturn archer that was slowly relaxing around them. He was constantly surprising everyone with his dry wit and had shown just how devious he could be when pushed in the prank war. He often served as a kind of second in command in battles ensuring they were not flanked and making on the fly changes to Steve’s plans that normally steered them back on course. It bothered him that Clint had been attacked yet again while he was still healing from the bruises of the last attack, small patches of green and yellow dotting his arms.

“I think he just likes learning. Agent Coulson made it sound like he already has several degrees.” Steve settled back into the couch with a hum, pulling open his sketch book and starting on a new drawing, eyes flickering from the limp form on the couch and back to his page as he sketched.

“Do you know why he keeps turning down sparing with me?”

“I was not aware he had, you should probably ask him.” Bruce said with a sigh. Clint rolled upward suddenly, scrubbing a hand through his hair before hunting for something to mark his place as he shut his book.

“I don’t spar with you because I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” Clint said bluntly, eyes flickering between Steve and Bruce. “You guys just can’t get your heads around the fact that Natasha and I were trained to kill. When we spar we trust each other to be able to dodge those killing moves. We don’t hold back with each other at all.” he said with a sigh, setting his book to the side. “With you guys I don’t trust that you’ll know or be able to get out of the way in time.”

“I’d still like to try.” Steve insisted.

“Alright, Bruce you want to come watch? Between his strength and my skill we might need a doc by the end of it.” Clint said with a small smirk, leading the way to the elevator, not giving Steve a chance to back down. He had seen the Captain eying the fading bruises on his arm, might as well push his point across while Steve was determined to not hurt him.

“Sure, should be educational. Let me grab Tony, might as well make it a team event.”

Less than a minute into the fight, it was over. Steve was laid out on the mats with a broken nose, cracked collarbone, and had his arm dislocated. He had not landed a single blow on the smaller man.

“What was that, Muay Thai?” Tony asked as Bruce hurried forward to help Steve sit back down.

“Something like that. I combine a lot of different styles. It varies depending who I am fighting.”

“So that’s not how you would fight Natasha?”

“No, she knows Muay Thai and would answer in kind. Steve’s a boxer, if he loses the shield he falls back to basic roundhouses and jabs relying on his strength to take his opponents out in one blow.” They ignored the grunt of pain from Steve as Bruce reset his arm back in the socket. “He’s not used to dealing with opponents that use his strength against him.”

“Yeah, well I think we are going to have to do that again.” Steve said, wiping at the blood on his face, his nose already healing. “I want you to teach me how to prevent that.”

“I’m not the best teacher, but we can try.” Clint offered with a small frown. “Maybe you could try some kickboxing or something, teach you to use your legs more.”

 


	19. Exams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clnt takes his final exams for his classes this semester.

  
  


***

 

The next morning Clint quickly finished his breakfast and caught a cab to the testing center for his exams. It was still early since he had been determined to avoid the others attempts to cheer him up. The last few days the team had been trying to spend more time with him which was nice but he was starting to miss the days he was able to work out on the range without someone standing behind him talking.  

He started taking his recurve to Central Park and practicing at one of the archery ranges there early in the mornings to get some time to himself. The range there was deserted at five or six in the morning but occasionally he had one or two other guys who eyed him silently but let him shot in peace.

It was funny but since he had started shaving his head he had not been made as Hawkeye once outside of missions. It helped that Shield had rushed to pull most of the images of him and Natasha from the attack, though none had a good view of his face. The marketing department was still pushing for him to leave the black ops side and allow them to market his image along with the rest of the Avengers. He was just too used to relying on his anonymity to ever agree, too many villains already knew what he looked like, heck he had worked for several of them for a while.

He took his four exams in record time surprising the testing center employees when he simply finished each one, and asked that the next be loaded with only one bathroom break. When he finished he was given a paper saying he had passed but would have to wait to receive his actual scores in the mail. He headed back to the tower to drop off his things before his next appointment.

Of course something had to go wrong, the elevator opened to the main common floor instead of his rooms.

“Jarvis, something I need to know?” Clint asked, random changes to routine were never a good thing in his line of work.

“Master Stark has requested your presence in the kitchen for lunch.”

“Great, after this can I go to my room, I still have somewhere to be?”

“Of course, Agent Barton.”

“Thanks.” he muttered, shifting his messenger bag as he stalked into the kitchen trying to ignore the instinct to have a weapon in hand. This was supposed to be home, the team would not attack him here.

“Hey, Katniss! Care to join us for lunch? We need to discuss the detail for your party tonight.”

“I don’t have a party tonight, Stark.”

“Of course you do, you made it through your exams so that deserves a party. I can have this place full of your favorite alcohol and runway models in three phone calls.”

“I don’t drink.” Clint snapped, rubbing a hand across the itchy stubble that was growing in. “I don’t want a party and I can’t stay for lunch, I have somewhere to be.”

“Woah, no no no, everyone wants a party and what’s with the no drinking?”

“Personal preference.” he snapped, “Listen thanks for the thought and all but I don’t want a party, I don’t even know what my scores are yet.”

“Well that’s easy to fix, already know you passed, I can get your scores in ten seconds.” Tony said tugging out his phone and starting to type.

“You hacked my school exams? What am I saying, of course you did.” Clint snapped, “Do you have no sense of another person’s privacy?” Clint fought to control his temper, he had yet to even get a friendly relationship with Tony even after living and working with maniac for almost two years now. Most of their conversations were about work or arguing about some invasion of privacy that Tony had instigated on the people around him, the man had no sense of tact.

“Oh, come on. You know you want to know how you did. This just cuts out the wait.”

“Yeah, and if anyone finds out you hacked my records for me I will lose the credits and get kicked out of the college. I don’t want to know, Stark, and there is no reason for you to jeopardize my record just because you want to see my scores.”

“Oh come on, between my mad skills and Shield no one would kick you out.

“Shield doesn’t touch this, Stark. It’s my real name and social attached to the records, not an alias. You ever stop to think that I want to do this as a normal person, as me and not as a Shield Agent? That I would want one thing for me?”

“But Agent sets up your classes...”

“Yeah, because my Shield work comes first, it always has.” Clint said with a sigh, “Listen, just drop it, I don’t want a party and I don’t need to know my scores early.”

“Fine, but the no drinking thing. You’ve had beers with us, drank wine at dinner.”

“It’s called being polite, Stark, you should try it sometime.”

“Nope, tell me this, were you doing some spy trick or have you actually been drinking?”

“I don’t drink, I was just being polite.” Clint repeated with a sigh, “Nat knows I don’t drink and we switch bottles after a while so it looks like I drank when we go on assignments. It was just habit, I’ll get her to stop.”

“Yeah, but why? I mean there has to be a reason for just swearing off something like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. My father was a mean drunk and beat me and my brother up for years, my parents died in a drunk driving accident, and my brother spent most of my teen years drunk beating me up. I don’t really want to follow that trend.” Clint snapped, “I’m going to get my things for my appointment, I’ll see you guys for dinner.”

He ignored the elevator and took the stairs to his floor. Stark was just an ass, he had to know and understand everything about everything around him, no matter how private or personal. He just could not understand that some things were not meant to be shared.

He was slightly calmed down by the time he exited onto his floor and gathered the notebooks he would need. On a whim he grabbed his recurve bow case, he would stop by the range at the park and shoot until it was time for his class, maybe he could calm the tightness in his chest. Tonight was all but guaranteed to be full of nightmares after that reveal.

“Will the elevator let me out on the ground floor this time, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Agent Barton. I am sorry but I am programed to defer to my creator even if I disagree with him.”

“It’s fine, Jarvis. I just wish he would realize that I have things I don’t want to share with the team. I just don’t trust them to not use the knowledge against me. I barely trust Natasha and Coulson with some of this stuff and they found out most of it while I was high on pain medication.” he said with a sigh, getting into the elevator and waiting for the doors to close.

He grabbed a cab to the park and settled in at one of the open lanes on the end of the range. The wind was gusting randomly frustrating the other archers practicing but Clint let the draw and pull and wait for the perfect moment calm his nerves, pulling him into the zone where he saw nothing but his target and the wind in his ears. It was perfect, he practiced for two hours before catching another cab to a local music college. He had surprised Coulson when he asked if he could take lessons at a college here in town since he was going to be in one place for a while.

He was auditing an Intro to Cello course that so far he had taken three times. The instructor kept advising him to take lessons instead but he enjoyed meeting the other music students and playing with the others. Any way, he could not keep a consistent schedule thanks to Shield work and missions. He was constantly missing days or even weeks of class thanks to Shield ops that sent him around the country or across the world. Several times he had arrived late and simply sat in the back of the class listening to the others practice letting the throbbing notes calm his mind.

He had always shown up in Shield gear before he was grounded by medical. The first time he had arrived three lessons in a row wearing jeans and a henley the teacher had pulled him aside to make sure he had not been fired from his job. Clint had quickly assured him it was just extended medical leave. The first time he showed up with a shaved head he was again pulled to the side, the instructor wanting to make sure the class time worked with his treatments, his own brother having died from liver cancer several years earlier.

Clint pulled the loaner cello he used from the back storage room and settled into tune while he waited for the rest of the students to trickle in. The calm from the range followed him into the lesson and he lost himself in the piece they were working on. He hoped he could keep that feeling with him through the next few weeks. He stopped his instructor, Professor Brown, as the rest of the class filed out.

“Professor, do you have a moment?”

“Always, my boy. How can I help you today? You bow work was wonderful today, you are really improving. I wish I could convince you to get your own instrument.”

“Maybe, I’ve never been one to own a lot.”

“While an instrument can be owned, the music it produces cannot. If nothing else it would help you improve and practice when you are not able to attend classes.”

“I’ll think about it. I actually wanted to let you know that I might be missing some classes in the next few weeks. The docs are talking about changing my treatments, I am probably going to be starting chemo next week.”

“Email me know what your schedule of treatments will be once you know, I can see about letting you attend one of my other classes.”

“Thanks, Professor Brown.”

Clint took his time walking back, letting his mind wander as his feet made their slow way back to the tower. When he was fourteen he had saved up and bought a guitar, a week later Barney had destroyed it in a drunken rage. Most of his possessions were destroyed in the same way until he left the circus and got away from Barney and Trickshot, books he had been studying, bows and arrows that he had painstakingly altered, anything that Barney could use as leverage to show that he was nothing, next to worthless without his aim. He and Coulson had a recurring discussion about how much of an ass his brother was, normally when Clint was confined to a hospital bed and could not run away from the conversation. Some lessons were hard to forget, however. Possessions could be used as leverage against you. He might be able to walk away from everything again if he had to but he was not sure he would want to. You couldn’t travel light with a cello, after all. On impulse he pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Coulson.”

“Hey, it’s Clint. I have a question for you.” Coulson made a small hum of acknowledgement, waiting for him to get to the point making Clint grin.

“If I got a cello would you make sure it goes to a good home or something if I have to move light again? Make sure no one tosses it?”

“You want to buy a cello?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Then go get one, I’ll take care of it if you can’t.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“You’re welcome.” Coulson said, Clint imagining he could hear the slight sarcastic smile.

“Later Coulson.” he told the dial tone, already altering his course to take him to a small pawn shop that had a used cello for sale that was in good condition.

Smuggling a cello into the tower was harder than it should have been. He asked Jarvis to keep quiet about it unless Stark asked specifically about it, maybe that would keep it safe for a while. He knew Stark would probably never touch it but his gut instinct about the man said bully. He might have his back in a fight or on a mission but in real life he was not sure he trusted the mercurial man.

After that he added an hour of practice to everyday he could, most of the time after he finished his morning workout, before breakfast. He doubted it would stay hidden for long but for now, this was his.

  
  
  



	20. Flashback

***

 

It finally came to a head when Shield asked him to go on a simple mission for them out of the country. It needed his skill sets and after reading over the files Clint saw no reason he could not do it. He accepted the mission and left the next morning.

Four days later he arrived back to chaos. The team was waiting for him when he arrive back at the tower. Coulson had met his plane when it arrived on base and explained that the team was not happy with Shield using him while he was sick. After hours of arguments Stark had tried to track his phone and hearing aids only to find out that they had been left in his bedroom. Surprisingly even Natasha was upset since she had been forbidden from accompanying him on the mission.

Stark marched up as soon as he stepped off the elevator and threw his phone and hearing aids box at him.

“What the fuck, Stark?” Clint asked catching both items but having to drop his duffle.

“Really? What the fuck? That’s what you go with? You left without notifying anyone on the team!”

“I’ve left on dozens of missions since I moved in here and no one cared if I notified them I was leaving or not. Coulson knew where I was, he authorized the mission.”

“You left your phone.”

“I always leave the phone. Christ, you use Jarvis to monitor everything that goes through the hearing aids, Stark. You could record every word said around me on a mission. You really think Shield is going to let me use unsecured tech on a mission?” Clint demanded stuffing the phone and box in a pocket so he would have his hands free.

“I wouldn’t have used it!”  
“You record everything that happens in the tower and have Jarvis report our movements!” Clint snapped. “Why would you act any different when I am at Shield or on a mission if it meant you got to know what was happening? Hell, you hack Shield databases all the time, you even hacked my school records! What would stop you?”

“I would have liked a heads up. I think everyone on the team would have.” Steve interjected calmly trying to bring everyone back on topic.

“Fine, next time I go out on a mission I will let the team know before I leave.” Clint allowed, glancing at Coulson to get his nod of agreement.

“Thank you.” Steve said with a small nod that Bruce echoed.

“We worried about you.” Bruce added gently. “I thought you were off missions since your diagnosis?”  
“Yeah, I thought you got pulled that one mission since Shield won't let a medically compromised agent be on missions?” Stark snipped.

“That is only for uncontrolled or known conditions. Since they know what’s wrong with me and how to treat it I am cleared for part time work. That’s why I am still working on base several days a week.”

Clint surveyed the team. Stark was still pacing and livid while Steve and Bruce simply looked a little tired and worried. It was Natasha that bothered him. To an outside observer she would look the same she always did but he knew her tells. The few strands of hair out of place, the tension that wrapped her frame, the faint creases in her uniform, she had barely slept for the four days he had been gone. She would corner him later to talk about whatever was eating at her, they would not discuss it in public.

 

“What exactly is the issue Stark?” Clint asked, fighting to control his reactions. Something about the frantic pacing was unsettling him, he fought the instincts that said to brace for a blow. He was not a child anymore to worry about being hit at home, he reminded himself, all of his abusers had been dead for years by this point.

He was tired from the flights and three days spent in a sniper’s nest waiting for his target. Even before leaving on the mission his dreams had been full of betrayals, hands that hit and voices that screamed at him. Mind full of memories of abuse and pain as he relived his worst abuses at the hands of those who should  have protected him. He watched Stark pace, his breath coming faster as the adrenaline kicked in.

 

“You don’t trust us.” Stark snapped turning back to face the team in one sharp movement flinging a hand out to point at Clint, a few stray drops of his drink spilling. The room smelled faintly of whiskey. Clint fought to control the instinct to flinch from the motion, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes narrowed, watched him, noting a tell. “You keep running off to work for Shield and forgetting that you are leaving us here!”

“I work for Shield, Stark. I go where they send me.”

“Not any more. You want to be an Avenger than you need to be one, not a Shield lackey.” Stark snarled walking up to step into Clint’s space making him back up on autopilot. Stark continued his rant ignoring Natasha calling his name softly as he continued to push Clint back towards the wall. Clint saw Coulson tense out of the corner of his eye and somehow that made it worse.

 

“If you can’t trust your team then how can we trust you to have our backs when we’re on a mission. You want to do good? Than do some good here. Be an Avenger. Step up already, Hawkeye! What use are you to us if you’re half way around the world shooting people for Shield?” Stark poked him in the chest, he breath thick with the whiskey he had been drinking, pushing him back the last step. Clint’s heel hit the wall an instant before his shoulders. “What happened to us being a team, huh? What happened to us working together like family? Family does not run around taking orders from another boss!”

“Family doesn’t spy on each other.” he managed, flicking his eyes to Natasha. They had had this argument before. Both spies were used to knowing everything about their surroundings and targets, it was a show of trust that they were not constantly trying to gather data on the others in the tower.

“No, you lost a vote in this family when you left us high and dry without even a goodbye. You are the one who left and caused this. You don’t belong here!”

 

For a second Clint’s body locked up, his mind pulling up every time he had gotten tossed into a wall by his Father, every time Barney had backhanded him after a show, every screamed insult and rant about how he was the reason their family was broken, he was the one who broke everything he touched. He couldn’t breathe, eyes barely tracking the movement as Stark gestured and ranted, the words not making sense. He managed to choke out the word, Tasha, as his breath wheezed in his chest and his world slid black.

Coulson was already moving barking out orders as Natasha threw Stark back by the back of his shirt not caring how he landed as her partner crumpled to the ground, scrambling on all fours to the nearest corner and curling into the smallest ball he could manage. His arms wrapped his head as a low mumbled chant of sorry and stop slid from his lips, the words strangely mangled and misspoken as only a partly deaf child could pronounce them. She ignored how he shuddered and how the chant kicked up to an even more frantic note as she pulled him fighting out of the corner before inserting her body into the corner so that he was pulled against her chest wrapped in her arms as he shook.

 

“What the fuck?” Stark yelled from his sprawl, eying the panicking man with confusion.

“Shut up, Stark.” Coulson said shifting to crouch near the wall yet well away from Natasha and Clint. “Flashback?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need?”

“Ideally? To get him to his rooms.”

“Jarvis. Get the elevator open and ready. Move when you’re ready. I’ll deal with this.” He said standing and moving to the kitchen where the rest of the team waited frozen.

Natasha simply held Clint and rocked him for a moment before she slowly began sifting them the last few feet to the elevator at a crouch. Once they were in and the doors closed, Coulson turned back to Stark and the others.

“Do they need help?” Bruce asked, eyeing the elevator doors.

“Not at the moment, Natasha knows how to talk him down.”

“You’ve seen this before?”

“He has had similar flashbacks while on missions.” Coulson said trying not to remember how brutally Clint had killed their attackers at the safe house before falling completely apart once they were in another hideaway a hundred miles away.

“What set it off?” Steve asked watching where Stark was rubbing a bruised elbow.

“He was attacked somewhere he considered safe.” Coulson said simply watching each of the others flinch. “Natasha and I were concerned after the attack on the helicarrier but he did not have any flashbacks then, only nightmares.”


	21. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations

  
***

It was only once Natasha was sitting on the floor of Clint’s entryway that she realized she did not know the code to open his door. After the attack on the helicarrier he had changed all his codes and not shared them with anyone else.  
“Jarvis, please tell me you can open the door?”  
“I can only open the door under the conditions of a medical emergency.” Jarvis intoned as the door clicked open.  
“Thank you, Jarvis.” Natasha huffed, struggling to get Clint into a standing position and moving at a stumbling walk toward the door. Once inside he again began to fight to get out of her embrace so she let him go, keeping watch to see where he went. In a flash he was in one of the oversized closets, climbing the shelves to wedge himself next to the ceiling.  
“High and dark.” Natasha said with a sigh, considering if she should join him or not. Shrugging she gathered supplies, blankets and pillows, water bottles and protein bars set in the bottom of the closet. She did not bother with a flashlight since Jarvis had turned the lights on ever so faintly giving her just enough light to maneuver by as she closed the closet door and settled in to the nest of blankets waiting on her partner to join her. She began talking softly telling stories of their different missions for next hour until his breathing evened out into sleep, then she curled up to keep watch until her partner was back with her.  
Several hours later Clint fell from his perch, scrambling out of the closet and to the bathroom. Natasha sighed as the sound of him retching reached her, he had spent the last hour curled in on himself, whimpering as he fought against his nightmares. She dismantled the nest as the sound of the shower starting filled the room. She moved everything to the bedroom before changing into a pair of sweats and curling up in the bed to wait for him to emerge. She frowned when he came out a short time later fully dressed, sliding weapons back into place.

“You need to sleep, Clint.”  
“Did sleep.” He said gruffly, eyes tracking the sightlines in the room, possible exits, and weapons available.  
“Sit with me a while then.” she offered, patting the bed next to her. Clint took a weary step towards her before skittering away.  
“Can’t.” he said, his body trembling with the need to move.  
“Want to patrol?” she offered, getting up and starting to change back into her uniform. Once she was fully dressed and had her weapons where she wanted them she slid the bow and quiver she had hidden from under the bed. He let her bring the weapons to him before sliding on the quiver and pulling an arrow to rest, ready to shoot.  
“Jarvis. Is anyone still up?”  
“Liaison Coulson is still on the common floor in the kitchen, everyone else has retreated to their rooms.”  
“Let Coulson know that we are going to patrol and warn anyone if they go to leave their rooms.” she said calmly pulling her gun and gesturing for Clint to move out. “Top to bottom or bottom to top?”  
“Top down.”  
They moved as twinned shadows, gliding their way along each floor from opposite sides of the room meeting back at the stairwell and continuing down to the next floor. By the time they started the sixth sweep they were both exhausted from taking the stairs. Natasha paused for a moment when Clint paused waiting for her nod to open the door for the next sweep of his floor. She nodded and let him make the full sweep of his floor before she reached out and caught a strap on his vest forcing him to stop.  
“Time to sleep. We both have to be in shape tomorrow for the fall out.” she reminded him gently.  
“Coulson’s handling it.” Clint said, rubbing a hand across his mouth, the soft leather of his shooting glove catching on his five o’clock shadow, his other hand white knuckled around his bow.  
“They’re your team, they are going to want to talk to you in the morning.” she tried to point out gently.  
“Need to pack.” he said shouldering his bow and moving to pull a duffle from the closet.

“Jarvis, is Coulson still here?” Natasha asked watching as Clint stuffed seemingly random things into his duffle.  
“Yes, Miss Romanov, he is staying in one of the guest rooms.”  
“Can you ask him to join us?”  
“Right away.” Jarvis replied, “Liaison Coulson is on his way.”  
“Thank you, Jarvis.” She said moving to open the door for him, “Maybe he can talk some sense into you.” she tossed over her shoulder, ignoring the fact that Clint was stripping the floor of his favorite weapons, ignoring everything else.  
“Agent Barton.” Coulson said mildly striding in, giving Natasha a nod for getting the door.  
“Sir.”  
“Where are you planning on going at three in the morning?”  
“Base.”  
“Shield is not going to let you walk in and just take a room. You no longer have one assigned on base.” Coulson watched the younger man pack noting how he gave the closet holding his cello a wide berth.  
“Hotel.”  
“You don’t sleep at hotels.” Coulson said with a small frown as he noted the fine tremors shaking Clint’s frame.  
“I can get an assigned room on base in the morning.”  
“Only if it is signed off by your handler.” he pointed out watching as Clint paused in stuffing clothes in a second bag.  
“I need to leave.” he said, his hands twisting in a black tee shirt.  
“I think you need to stay.” Coulson said gently as he walked to the grey couch and settled in the middle.  
“Can’t” Clint choked out, his breathing fast and rough. Coulson merely waited, raising one eyebrow when his asset finally turned to face him.  
“It’s my fault.”  
“What’s your fault, Clint?” the tee shirt was tearing now in his harsh grip.  
“Everything… always my fault. I always break everything.”  
“What about us, Clint? You're my partner. Only way we’re broken is if you leave me.” Natasha offered as she settled to one end of the couch. “You brought me in, you fixed me.” Clint made a small wounded sound at this and started to pace.  
“What about me, Clint? How have you broken me?” Coulson pressed.  
“Got you stabbed.” Clint choked out, more sob than words.  
“Still here.” Coulson said with a small sad smile. That finally seemed to break the standoff and Clint crumbled to the ground, crawling to his handler and leaning against his legs, one hand wrapping his lower leg, skin on skin. Coulson gave a small sigh.  
“We’re all broken, Clint. Me, Natasha, the team, all of us. You can’t run away just because the rest of the team got to see your rough edges.”  
“They’re gonna think I’m nuts.” came muffled from where Clint had his face pressed into grey suit.  
“Who said anyone of us were normal?” Natasha said with a feral grin. “I get dibs on punching Stark.”  
“I may have beat you to it.” Coulson said with another of his tiny patent smiles.  
“Still owe him several from being his PA.”  
“If that counts then I get to tase him.” Coulson rubbed his thumb along the cool skin of Clint’s scalp, feeling the tension still thrumming through his body.  
“Why do you need to leave, Clint?” he asked with a small sigh.  
“Told me to leave.”  
“That was Stark being an ass. You can ignore him.” Natasha advised, “It’s the only way to not kill him most days.”  
“Don’t belong here.”  
“Clint, if you don’t belong here then none of us do. Do we need to leave to?” Clint made an almost whining sound as he hunched closer to his handler, drawing his legs up as he leaned against Coulson’s legs. Coulson was not like him, he deserved someplace to stay, a place he could return to after ops.  
“Where you go, I go.” Natasha reminded him.  
“Thought love was for children.” Ah, there was her snarky archer.  
“Who said anything about love? I stand by my partner.” That earns her a snort as Clint slowly relaxed against Coulson’s legs.  
“Do we need to leave, Clint?” Coulson asked gently, hand moving in slow circles as he massaged Clint’s head and neck.  
“Thought it was a good place.”  
“What makes it a bad place? Beyond Stark being an ass.” Natasha put in.  
“S’not safe.”  
“Nowhere we stay is safe, Clint. We have to make it safe.” Natasha said, shifting closer to Coulson so that Clint could lean against her legs as well. Clint shuddered against her for a moment, his mind showing him every time his home had been taken away or he had been forced to leave.  
“Need to leave.”  
“Then where are we off to? We take a couple missions, go do some wet work in France or Italy, but we would have to come back eventually, the team does need us.”  
Clint gave a small sigh, rubbing his forehead against Coulson’s knee. Coulson had a notebook he liked to pull out around the other handlers who requested Natasha or Clint for an op. It showed every mission that they had been instrumental in the final positive outcome. It was a large notebook. They did good work, Clint knew this but he also knew that they were not built for staying in any one place long. People like them did not get to have homes to come back to.  
“We set down some rules for Stark limiting what he has access to in the personal floors?” Natasha offered, pulling out her phone to send a text to Jarvis requesting the temperature be turned up, tilting the screen so Coulson could see what she was doing. Coulson gave a small hum of acknowledgement to her question.  
“Is it just Stark? Are the others bothering you?”  
“No, Steve an’ Bruce are good.” he said, reaching up with one hand to wipe at his face. He could not explain the thrumming need to run that ratcheted his shoulders tight against his spine.  
“You start Chemotherapy in two days, Clint. I cannot authorize you to leave on a mission right now.” Coulson said with a sigh, his hand stroking along the short stubble that covered Clint’s head. “It’s just stress. Will you give me a few weeks to sort things? If by the end of next month you still want to run I won't try and stop you.”  
“Yeah.” Clint muttered, letting Natasha pull him up and strip him down for bed. He was slightly surprised when Coulson shed his suit jacket, shoes, and tie, crawling into bed to sit leaning against the headboard with a stark pad propped on one knee. He lay down, one hand against Coulson’s hip while Natasha was a warm weight against his back. They had done this a few times when it was just the three of them on missions, curling up in the only bed to keep warm or to comfort whomever was injured.  
“I’ll take first watch. Sleep.” Coulson said in his, do this before I shot you voice, making Clint give a small huff of a laugh into his pillow. They would help him figure it out, it was what they did for each other, he mused as he drifted off to troubled sleep full of fists and belt and the smell of whiskey.

.


	22. Chemotherapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint starts Chemotherapy.

***

 

Chemotherapy was horrible, Clint decided. It was pouring poison into your body and hoping it killed the right cells without destroying everything else in the process. The doctors decided to run the chemo slowly at first before increasing the dosage if he was not showing improvement after the first six treatments. He went once a week on Mondays, staying for several hours while the chemo and fluids were infused. The liquid burned going in and he hated having to lay there waiting for the bags to empty. He brought his tablet and books but it was hard to ignore the nurses and other patients moving about the open medical bay.

He was sure the rumor mill on base already knew that Hawkeye was getting treated for something, he just could not make himself try and catch up on the gossip to see what they were saying about him. Natasha had no such qualms and when he complained to her later that night she informed him that everyone was convinced he was dying of either an STD or was having complications from all those concussions he got from jumping off buildings.

The first dose left him exhausted and he actually got almost ten hours of sleep every night that week which threw off his training schedule. He was not going to complain about getting extra sleep. He did better the rest of the week and was glad that the nastier side effects had not shown up. Those waited until next week.

He spent the third night after his second dose throwing up everything he had ever eaten. Natasha refused to let him sleep in the bathroom so he randomly bolted from bed to toilet, losing the latest battle with his nausea. On the second day of this he went in to see medical and to get a shot of antiemetics along with a prescription for oral meds for after his next treatment.

Over the next few weeks he lost the little weight he had managed to gain back after his surgeries. He was now being forced to drink protein shakes with every meal in a bid to get more calories into his body. He stopped losing weight but he continued to fight with nausea after his treatments, thankfully it got better a few days after and he had another whole week before he needed to go back through it.

Natasha moved into one of the spare rooms on his floor and often shared his bed with him when he was having a bad night. The other Avengers were giving him space for now, not sure how to react around him. Clint was fine with that since he was rather determined to avoid them as well, not that it lasted long.

Bruce started showing up in the morning to make him smoothies and protein shakes for breakfast while Steve was called in the time he blacked out in the shower and Natasha was afraid to try and drag him out. He might be underweight and short for a guy but he was still a solid mass of muscle under his clothes.

Jarvis had apologised for ignoring his orders to lock the floor to everyone except during a medical emergency and Clint was forced to agree, he could not seal himself off from the team, no matter how much he wanted to.  He gave Coulson and Natasha full access at all time but everyone else in the tower had to request entrance unless there was a medical emergency.

Movie nights were started back though Clint tended to sleep through most of the movies. Stark rarely attended, spending all his spare time in trips around the world for his company or in his workshop building a new suit. Clint was still not sure how to react to the volatile iron man. He seemed to want nothing in return for their staying in his house and yet he let them have no privacy, needing to keep track of everything that happened around him whether they wanted him to know or not. Clint wanted to know what he owed the man so he could pay his dues and get on with working with the team. Nothing was free after all, even if they did not acknowledge the price.

 


	23. Aim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's aim is off.

*

***

 

His aim was off. Sure most people would not consider being off a few millimeters a big deal but it was for him. He was never off without a reason. The last time he had missed was because his he had to take a shot after using his bow like a club to take out six robotic insects that had swarmed his nest, the bow had shattered after two shots, the last going wide and barely missing clipping Thor as he came in to assist.

He was having to put in extra time each morning training to adjust for that extra shift to one side. He went through every bow he had one day trying to determine if it was the equipment but he was slightly off on all of them. He added more range time to his schedule and more exercises using his hands, back, and arms hoping it was just the slight downturn he had taken in his training since he was diagnosed. It only took two weeks for Coulson to corner him at the range and ask what was going on.

 

“Report, Barton.” Coulson said settling against the wall behind where he was shooting. Clint snarled and fought against his temper insisting that destroying something was a great idea. He tossed the arrow to one side and paced gripping his bow like he wanted to snap it.

“My aim is off.”

“Off by how much exactly? Like last time when you missed because of the building collapsing out from under you?”

“No. It’s consistent.” Clint said forcing himself to start taking apart the compound bow he had been working with and returning it to it’s case. “I ran through all my bows and my aim is off on all of them. I’ve been working to correct it but it keeps happening.”

“So you increased your training?”

“Yeah, and started working out more incase it was related to muscle strength.”

“Has Jarvis noted the deviation or any improvement?”

“Yeah, he says it’s decreasing slightly but not back to normal.”

“If I may, Agent Barton.” Jarvis chimed in, “On average your aim is still at top efficiency. What you are calling being off is actually only about a 3% deviation that could be could be caused by a number of factors.”

“Chemotherapy is known to cause effects in the brain for years after treatment.”

“That’s not exactly a comfort, Coulson.”

“Is it to the point where it is going to endanger you or someone else on a mission?”

“Maybe.”

“Jarvis, how far is he off?”

“Between one to three millimeters, Liaison Coulson.”

“Less than half an inch, Clint.”

“Half an inch is a big deal in some of our fights, Phil. Half an inch to the right and you would not be here talking to me right now.” Clint pointed out, snapping his bow case closed and hitting the button to retrieve his targets.

“Let Steve know so his plans don’t hinge on a perfect shot, just in case.” He said gripping Clint’s shoulder for a moment before stepping away and heading back to the elevator.

“Jarvis, please keep me updated on Clint’s practice schedule. I don’t want him falling back into old habits.”

“Yes, Liaison Coulson.”

 


	24. World Security Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World Security Council catches up with Clint.
> 
> *Warnings: Rape and graphic torture scenes.*

 

***

 

Clint was on base working through a mountain of mission statements when the World Security Council finally made their move. He was officially remanded to their care with Coulson watching from the hallway as he was cuffed and stripped of all weapons. He gave Coulson a small nod to acknowledge the hand sign, they were working to get him out.

He forced himself into the headspace that distanced himself from his body, it was only a vehicle to get the information he needed. Every action and word spoken around him was burned into his brain, waiting to be recited back on command once the mission was complete. He had spent two weeks in a crawlspace like this once on mission, only eating and drinking because Coulson was in his ear ordering him to do so.

He was transported by helicopter to another airfield and from the next air field to another base. Once there he was strapped to a chair in an interrogation room and left to stew. His only problem he had with the entire process was that he had to deal with the WSC by the book while they could use and abuse him as they liked. Every question they presented was answered with his name, code name, and a request for the authorization code from his superiors. Until he received the authorization code he did not have to answer any question put to him.

He could not lash out or resist in any physical way or they would be able to say he was unruly or mentally unstable and thus unfit for duty. The torture started after four hours of questions that he refused to answer. He was beaten systematically, mostly in the soft tissue and ribs where it would hurt constantly but not do any real damage...yet. His face and hands were avoided and he let himself feel a small bit of gratitude for that, they wanted him broken but not enough to be unusable as an asset, not yet anyway. He knew that he was freaking out the guards watching him with his blank face and thousand yard stare but could not bring himself to care.

 

“Clinton Francis Barton, code name Hawkeye. Until an authorization code is provided by a superior officer of Shield I cannot answer.”

 

He cataloged everything around him as he was taken to a new cell, one with a surgical table to one side and various places he could be chained and cuffed to on each wall. He let the information flood his brain as he was placed on the table, his hands still cuffed at the small of his back making his back bow, a hood over his face and straps holding the rest of his body down. He counted the seconds as they waterboarded him on and off between demands and questions for another six hours before returning him to his cell. He ignored the slight rattle in his lungs no matter how hard he coughed from the handful of times he had been unable to hold his breath long enough to avoid inhaling the ice cold water they poured over him.

The next morning after three hours of sleep in a lighted cell and a quick meal of oatmeal he was pulled out and taken back to the torture room. He was uncuffed and strapped to the table face first, his body folded at the waist, booted feet barely able to touch the ground, his arms stretched above his head and cuffed to a bar there. The questioning began again while his shirt was cut off of him along with his weapons harness and belts from his upper legs. Leather straps circled his ankles and below his knees, pulling his hips tight against the metal.

Knives cut into his back and shoulders in an indifferent pattern occasionally pausing to ask a question and for him to recite back his rote response. He forced himself to note the location of each cut, depth, length and question associated with each. No sounds left his throat beyond the bland recitation of of denial.

 

“Clinton Francis Barton, code name Hawkeye. Until an authorization code is provided by a superior officer of Shield I cannot answer.”

 

He was left stretched across the table under guard for several hours before the main interrogator returned and his back was cleaned with a ratty towel. He noted each action as he was offered water, which he drank as his hair was absently stroked in a show of comfort, the wounds on his back tended with some kind of cream. He was given small bites of a protein bar as they worked. “Carrot, stick.” he thought absently as he noted the other guards leaving the room, memorizing their faces.

It was edging into his third day of captivity and so far the interrogators had nothing on a few days with Hydra he noted clinically. The last time he had been captured by Hydra he had left a good pound of skin behind and had six broken bones. He would have to see how everything compared once this was over, he bet he spent less time in Medical this time.

He was offered water again a few hours later and again obediently drank but let most of the metallic tasting water spill down his front. It was drugged, he noted absently as the small amount he had swallowed tried to make his mind fuzzy and blurred the edges of all his wounds. The feel of a knife at his waist drew a small twitch from his muscles as they cut off the belt holding up his tactical pants and pulled them down to the straps at his knees. The black undergarments were cut off and discarded leaving him naked from the knees up.

“If you play nice I’ll let the first one prep you.” the woman offered, petting the skin along his lower back.

“Clinton Francis Barton, code name Hawkeye. Until an authorization code is provided by a superior officer of Shield I cannot answer.”

“As you wish.” the woman said, her eyes lingering along the long lines of muscle outlining his back and arse. “Enjoy boys.” she said, leaving him to his new tormentors.

Clint let himself slid deeper into his head, it was just a body, he could sort out the injuries once he was in a safe house. He could not stop the small sounds that slid past his teeth as the first man shoved in with no prep or lube, just a harsh burn of muscles forced to stretch or tear. He continued to record everything that happened around him, the threats and crooned words of pleasure or smut that were gasped in his ears, the bites and bruising grips, everything.

On the fifth day he was pulled from the table and stripped. He limped naked, cum and blood covered to a shower where he was quickly scrubbed down and redressed in a black jumpsuit and nothing else before the cuffs were placed back on. He was shoved into a nicer looking interrogation room and stuffed into a chair in the corner between two guards. An empty table sat with two chairs next to the other wall. Clint fought to straighten into a seated parade rest as Assistant Director Hill, Director Fury, and Liaison Coulson entered the room. Coulson set stack of folders and a recorder in front of on chair before moving to stand in a back corner. Hill and Fury settled into the chairs, eyes skimming his still wet hair and bare feet.

“Agent Barton.” Fury said flipping the folder open.

“Director Fury, sir.”

“The WSC is accusing you of treason and working knowingly against the bylaws of Shield while working as a contracted officer. I do not agree with this sentence and will not be issuing an authorization code.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We are here to hear your report on your treatment at the hands of the WSC. If they have handled themselves according to the geneva conventions guidelines then we will take your statement of the actions they are accusing you of and evidence of their rebuttal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Whenever you are ready, Agent.”

Listing out what had happened in the last five days took almost eight hours. Clint listed out every action taken against him, estimated time, location of each injury, names and or major defining characteristics of every person he had encountered (scars, hair and eye color, tattoos). He listed directions to every room he had been in along with estimated lengths of each hallway, every question that had been asked to him and which person had asked it. He noted that the two guards in the room had not interacted with him in any way or form before today, making the men twitch.

Director Fury began to smirk five minutes in, eyes on the two way mirror behind Clint’s head. The guards in the room shifted and twitched as he listed every detail in a voice devoid of emotion or reaction. It was just a body, he could react later.

 

“Agent, we are going to bring in medical to examine you. I expect every injury will match your recitation?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

Fury and the others from Shield left when a lab coated minion came in. Pictures were taken of each and every injury.

 

“Agent, I need an honest answer to this question.” Fury pressed once he had finished reviewing the medics report.

“Of course, sir.”

“How many more days of this kind of treatment can you last through?” Clint gave a slow blink as he tallied how his body felt. He was sleep deprived, feverish, probably developing pneumonia, covered in open wounds and still bleeding from those that needed stitches.

“Ten days, sir.” the guard next to him made a small choked sound, both having been forced to stay through the medical examination.

“As you were, soldier, we’ll have you out of here within five.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

 

Clint spent the next two days chained to a chair being questioned during the day, beaten when he refused to answer beyond his rote statement. Each night he was tossed into an empty cell to fight for sleep as he coughed like his body was trying to expel his lungs. He was at least feed twice a day now, the same gruel of oatmeal that every prison seemed to stock.

 

“Clinton Francis Barton, code name Hawkeye. Until an authorization code is provided by a superior officer of Shield I cannot answer.”

 

On day eight he was pulled back into the chair and hooded once again. This time he was not able to hold his breath long enough and finally blacked out after inhaling too much water and coughing until his entire body seized up. He woke up naked and strapped back folded over the table. His mental clock said he had been out about six hours, making it late afternoon on the eighth day. He had another two days before he reached the five day limit.

He took stock of his body, distantly listing off each injury and if they had worsened, the only two that bothered him were his chest and the fever. He was shivering with cold that he was convinced was more fever than actual cold and his breath wheezed with each exhalation, crackling when he took a deep breath. Each breath burned, his entire chest felt bruised and broken, he could not tell what was because of real injuries and what was from pulled muscles from coughing.

He was questioned again and he gave his rote answer in between smothered coughs before being folded back over the metal table and strapped down. He was raped on and off for the next two days. Each night he was taken back to his cell and left with water and gruel. He was fed again each morning before he was taken back and strapped to the table.

On the morning of day eleven he was removed from his cell and again forced into a shower and vigorously, painfully, cleaned before being given a basic Shield outfit and boots. He was finally going home. He let himself relax for a brief shining moment before he locked himself back into the distance he need to move like the caged tiger he was along the hall, to shed his injuries and stalk toward the room he was sure Coulson was waiting in, to watch with his thousand yard stare and memorize the play of emotion over every person he passed, noting how each grip tightened on weapons or twitched toward a holster. Yes, remember you have been abusing a wild thing that allowed you each abuse only because his pack leader would repay each wound ten fold. The WSC would be ashes by the time this was over either by his hand or Natasha’s.

He let their terror carry him through the halls and to the waiting jeep outside. He sat silently next to Coulson as they were carried to the nearest airfield. He stalked from the car and across the tarmac, waiting for his handler to precede him into the jet, Stark’s he noted absently. One side of the jet had been converted into a medical bay, the seats removed and a padded bed and monitors filled the back of the jet. His chest heaved for a moment in reaction before he tempered it,  not yet.

 

“Agent, report.” Coulson said setting his recorder to one side as several medical staff entered the plane.

Clint let his mouth run, the words meaningless as he listed off exactly what had happened in the last five days until he had joined Coulson in the jeep, trying to ignore the rasp to his voice or the number of times he had to stop and cough into his sleeve. Coulson stood at parade rest, gesturing the medical staff back when it looked like they would approach. Once he was done with his report Coulson approached.

“Do I have permission to touch you, Agent Barton?”

“Yes, sir.” Clint said, watching as Coulson approached, reaching out one hand to grip the back of his neck.

“Your mission is complete, soldier. You can stand down.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint agreed with a slight nod, taking a breath and fighting not to cough. Sweat and blood slicked his skin, making his black shirt and pants stick to him wetly. He thought he could feel trickles sliding down his back and inner thighs.

“You can stand down, Barton. I have the watch.” Natasha said sliding into a seat facing the medical bay, her favorite gun in one hand.

“You heard her, Agent.” Coulson said giving him a small shake forcing his eyes away from the weapon.

“Permission to stand down, sir?” Clint managed to slur as he felt the pain and exhaustion he had been pushing aside pressing against him, making his vision fill with spots.

“Permission granted, Agent.” filled his ears as he went limp, arms reaching to catch him as the world went dark.

  
  



	25. Conversation and hospital beds

***

 

He woke some undetermined time later, the room dim behind his closed eyes, the sharp smell of hospital disinfectant and the detergent Shield medical used on the sheets filling his lungs with each wheezing, cracking breath. Definitely pneumonia, he thought absently, noting where each IV was attached to his arm. He was asleep again before he managed to open his eyes.

This cycle repeated a few times before he was able to get his body to respond long enough to open his eyes and keep them open longer than a few heartbeats. The room was still dim but he could recognize the grey walls of Shield medical anywhere, it was the same shade on every base. The faint rustle of paper drew his gaze from the wall to the chair and table next to his bed that was covered in paperwork. Coulson sat working like he was in his office, a cold cup of coffee to one side.

Clint tried to give a weak “Hey.” but instead curled in on himself as he tried to cough his lungs out, pulling at the wounds on his back, making him gasp and starting to cough all over again. It took a few rounds of this before he managed to slow his breathing down enough to sip at the water Coulson was offering him.

“You have had surgery to repair rectal tears and will need some cosmetic surgery on the wounds on your back once you're more recovered. They did a procedure to remove fluid from your lungs and have you on a massive amount of antibiotics until your bloodwork comes back negative.”

“Assume you have AIDS until you don’t.” Clint rasped.

“Exactly.” Coulson said with one of his patented micro-smiles. “You have been here five days. We sent the team home after your fever spiked. You were reciting your name and denial of information whenever you were awake.”

“Tasha?”

“Nearby working on the paperwork for your trial with the WSC.  It should be most educational.” Coulson said with his bland shark’s tooth smile. “Now that you’re awake we are going to have you moved back to the New York base, probably tomorrow.” His eyes promised devastation if Clint set so much as a toe out of bed.

“Yes, boss.”

  
***

 

Two days later Coulson checked him out of the hospital. He was going against medical advice for once but it was that or leave Clint deeply drugged until he was ready to leave. Anytime someone entered the room or even passed the door Clint would wake up, ready to defend himself if needed. He had spent the last two days in a waking doze that was not helping with his already exhausted state. He had broken the wrist of one male nurse who came into check his IV while he was in a drugged sleep. Clint flinched away from every touch no matter how impersonal the medical staff was. The only deep sleep he had managed so far was the three hours he had spent curled against Natasha while she read to him from Anna Karenina.

Coulson moved his things into the office Clint did not use on his floor and arranged to work from the tower unless the team was called out. He could honestly say the team needed him more right now than Shield could. Clint’s illness was stressing the team while the last incident between Clint and Stark had resulted in Stark nearly being ostracized in his own home. This needed to be fixed and soon. Once Clint was settled at the tower, had eaten and taken at least a short nap, Coulson decided to push forward with the new agenda.

 

“Clint?”

“Coulson.” Clint murmured from where he was sprawled on his stomach across the couch, its back lowered to form a low bed watching some documentary with the sound muted and captions displayed. Natasha had finally been convinced to go get some sleep in her own room for a few hours.

“We need to talk about the team and what happened when you had the flashback.”

“I know, I just… I can’t talk about this stuff with people.”

“What about with me? We’ve talked before. Jarvis could record the conversation so you only have to have it once?”

“Yeah, ok.” Clint said with a sigh, his voice rough with exhaustion.

“Jarvis, did you catch that?”

“Yes, Liaison Coulson. I will start recording the conversation now.”

“Thanks, J.” Clint said with a limp wave at one of the cameras.

“Do you know what triggered you that day?” Coulson asked moving to one of the chairs next to the couch.

“Lot of stuff.” Clint said shuffling deeper into his nest of blankets. “I’d been having bad dreams for a few weeks, even before I went on the mission. Didn’t really sleep the four days I was out, stuck in this tiny attic aiming out a small ventilation window.”

“You flinched back from Stark when he was arguing with you.” Coulson said gently.

“Yeah, he was drinking whiskey. The whole room smelled like it.”

“And that bothered you?”

“Yeah, Dad used to drink whiskey. He’d come in reeking of it and just start screaming at us. He’d sit there drinking from a glass ranting until he finally snapped and went after someone. A lot of the time it was my Mom and me. Barney liked to fight back too much for Dad to go after him much. Barn’ started leaving the house for school and not coming back until really late, he avoided most of the fall out doing that. ”

“But you were younger than him.”

“Yeah, I had to stay. Someone had to help clean the house when Mom was too beat up to. To make sure we had something to eat on the table for when he got home or he’d just go off again. Than they died and we spent two years at the orphanage and a handful of foster homes.” Clint said with finality. Coulson kept his face blank but he knew he would need to bring them back to his homelife later.

“Than Barney took you to the circus.” He said offering the archer an out.

“Yeah, I was 6 or so, Barn’ was 13.  I was 8 when I started learning the bow, Barney left the circus when he was 16 to join the army.”

“What’d you like the best about the circus?”

“Getting to practice tumbling and wire work for hours each morning. Knowing someone was going to catch me if I fell. Spending hours practicing with the bow.” Clint paused wrapping himself in the blankets around him. “Cooking with the bearded lady, Ruth. She’s the one who took me to get my first hearing aids. She never thought I was stupid.” Coulson frowned at that but let it go for the moment. They had argued for years about Clint’s complex over his intelligence.

“So you liked the circus?” Clint shrugged.

“It was better than home. I had more places to hide.”

“What were you hiding from?”

“People.” Clint said with a sigh, scrubbing one hand across his eyes. “I got beat up a lot for any mistakes I made. Couple of the roustabouts were sweet on kids so I avoided them when I could. Trick liked to do punishment practice. I’d get the crap beat out of me and than I had to practice, if I was more than half an inch off the bullseye I got punched or cut depending on how far off I was.”

Natasha gave a snort as she came in, climbing up next to him. “You never miss.”

“Don’t now.” Clint responded with a snort of his own. “Half the scars I have on my arms are from Trick punishing me for being off. I learned to be accurate.” he said tiredly, shifting to lean his head against Natasha’s hip.

“Your father drank whiskey. What about the people at the circus?”

“Most drank whiskey when they could get it, otherwise it was rotgut gin or something cheap.”

“You were in the circus until you were 16 or so. Did you drink then?”

“Couple times, just lead to bad things so I avoided it after that.”

“So with Stark that day…?”

“He was yelling at me just like Dad, smelling like whiskey, shouting about how worthless I was.”

“You know Stark didn’t mean it like that right? He was worried about you.”

“Why? Why would he care?”

“You have lived and worked with the Avengers for almost two years now.” Coulson pointed out.

“Yeah, but I can count on both hands the number of conversations me and Stark have had and all of those have been arguments.”

“The man is an ass, but that does not mean he does not worry about the people on his team.” Natasha said.

“What about the crap with the phone? He was pissed I wasn’t using his tech.”

“No, idiot. He was upset that you did not have it since he had added all those safety features for the team. It meant you were out in the field with gear that he deemed substandard that might result in you getting injured.”

“You know I can’t take that tech out when Stark could be recording everything that happens on an op.”

“Yes, but Stark didn’t know that. You could have told him or Jarvis and they would have figured out a way for it to not keep any data while you are one a mission or maybe only store the files on a Shield server or something. They would have worked it out. Instead you said nothing and left everything at the tower, making him worry.”

“So it’s my fault?”  
“It’s no ones fault. It just could have been avoided if you and Stark were actually talking to each other.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. He talks to Hawkeye about the team and new arrow designs.” Clint said with a sigh. “With me he hacks my school accounts and uses Jarvis to spy on me.”

“He only does that because he knows you are hiding parts of yourself from everyone. He doesn’t know how to talk to people and so instead he watches everyone like some archer we all know and love.”

“I talk to people.” Clint grumbled.

“Really? Then why did Steve not even know you were taking classes? Why is it that no one has heard you play your cello yet?”

“Because those are mine. They don’t need to know that.”

“You don’t want your team mates and friends to know about you?”

“It’s just stuff. People take things like that and use them against you. Stuff gets broken or you have to leave it and travel light. I don’t need it so why should they even know about it.”

“Clint, would you say I need my ballet practice?” Natasha asked, shifting to face him.

“You like it, it relaxes you.”

“And the team knowing about it doesn’t change that fact.”

“That’s not something they can take away.”

“Why would they take away your classes or your cello?”

“Because it would hurt me.”

“The team does not want to hurt you.”

“But they would. People do that to each other.”

“Yes, people hurt each other.” Natasha sighed, shifting to curl up against his chest eyes going to Coulson, she could not help with this.

“Would Bruce want to hurt you?”

“No, but that’s Bruce. He feels bad for hurting anyone since he knows what it’s like to not have a choice in the decision to hurt those around you.”

“Like you with Loki.”

“Yeah.” The answer was more grunt than word as Clint shifted like he could pull Natasha even closer to him as he coughed for a moment into one arm. Natasha patted his head absently, leaning away while he coughed with a slight look of disgust, she had no sickbed manner, nor did she want to. They curled back together once he was breathing normally again.

“What about Steve? Would he use your cello against you?”

“Course not, he’s Steve. He would stop a runaway train to rescue a kitten.” he said making Natasha laugh softly into his neck. “An’ you and Tasha wouldn’t.”

“Then why would Stark?” Coulson pressed.

“Because he could. He lashes out at the people around him and uses what he knows to hurt them. Anyway, it’s his tower. He won't even let us pay rent. It’s like we’re squatters waiting for the owner to come and kick us out.”

“Even if he kicked you out, Clint. You own the cello, not Stark.”

“Never stopped anyone before.” he mumbled into Natasha’s tee shirt.

“Who, Clint?”

“Everyone.” He snapped, pushing away from Natasha’s embrace and standing. “I never got to keep things, either Barney trashed it or stole it or my Dad did. At the circus we had to travel light so I never owned much, my bows and such all belonged to Trick. Shield’s the same. I designed the bow and quiver I use for missions but they’re not mine, I don’t get to keep them if I leave Shield. Nothing is mine.” he ended softly, pushing away from the couch and going to his bedroom, the door shutting silently behind him.

“Coulson?”

“I’ll see what I can do about Shield. I knew they were not letting him use his equipment on Avengers missions but he owns the patents on most of his gear, not Shield.” Coulson said already pulling out his phone and starting to send emails, at the least he could make sure Clint was being paid for Shield using his designs.

“Would Stark let us lease the floors we are using?”

“Steve has been complaining about Stark not letting him pay rent. It also lets us have renters insurance through Shield if anything gets destroyed in an attack.” he added getting a snort from Natasha at his practicality.

“Jarvis can you send the video of this to my tablet. I think it’s time for a team meeting.”

“Of course, Liaison Coulson. I have asked the rest of the team to assemble on the common level.”

“If Stark refuses to attend please play the video in his lab.”

“I will do my best, Liason Coulson, however as my creator, Master Stark has the final say in how his systems are run.”

“That’s all any of us can do, Jarvis, even if we are trained to expect more.”

 

***

 

Tony was working on a possible new design for his armor when all his screens went black.

“Hey, Jarvis. What’s going on?”

“Liaison Coulson has requested the team’s presence on the common floor.”

“Yeah, not happening. Load the screens back.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The screens came back on but now were displaying a view of Clint’s bedroom.

“Coulson.” Clint murmured from where he was sprawled on his stomach across the couch, its back lowered to form a low bed watching some documentary with the sound muted and captions displayed. Natasha had finally been convinced to go get some sleep in her own room for a few hours.

“We need to talk about the team and what happened with your flashback.”

“I know, I just… I can’t talk about this stuff with people.”

“What about with me? We’ve talked before. Jarvis could record the conversation so you only have to have it once?”

“Yeah, ok.” Clint said with a sigh, his voice rough with exhaustion.

 

“Shit. Jarvis, turn it off.”

“I cannot comply, sir. Liaison Coulson has asked that the video be played while he is meeting with the rest of the team.”

Tony couldn’t look away as Coulson and Clint dissected exactly what triggered his flashback that afternoon.

“He looks awful.” Tony said watching the normally solid archer sprawled across the couch in exhaustion.

“If I may, sir, he was tortured for eleven days before spending the next six in hospital. He is still recovering. Rather like you upon your return from Afghanistan.”

Tony snorted, he had been an utter mess when he got back, Clint however seemed to be holding it together rather well.

“He looks better than I did.”

“From what I have discerned from talking to Agent Barton, this is not an isolated incident for him.”

“Fuck, how many…?”

“He has not said and I have not tried to determine the number.”

“Shit, don’t, just leave it.”

“As you wish, sir.”

He continued to watch in silence for a time.

“Jarvis, remove all the whiskey from the common areas.”

“Right away, sir. However if I may, I do not believe that having alcohol present was enough to trigger a flashback.”

“Yeah, I know, just do it anyway.”

Tony continued to watch, wincing at times as he recalled various arguments where he had belittled the archer.

“Jarvis, email Pepper and sic her on the legal team. We need contracts made up to lease the tower floors to the team. Also get with her to review the contracts we have with Shield, Barton should be getting compensated for using his designs, if he’s not we need to adjust things. Contact Coulson for a list of all designs that we're using that have Barton’s name attached. Make sure his name is on all the designs that we have worked on together, heck anything that me and one of the team has worked on should have their names on it as a co-owner. Toss that to Pepper and legal too, we might need to change a few patents.”

 

“How’s the work going on Barton’s trial?”

“Between our legal team and Shield’s I am optimistic that he will be exonerated from all charges with 97% certainty.”

“What’s causing the 3% negative, J.?”

“The WSC has a record of attempting to punish members of Shield for perceived wrongdoings that have no true bearing on the accused agent.”

“Well, we are just going to have to make sure that they are motivated to see things our way.”

“Yes, sir, we will.”

 


	26. Trial and Errors

 

***

 

The team was out in force waiting for the trial to start. They were using one of the large presentation rooms at a Shield base outside of New York. The WSC members stared down at those seated before them from large overhead display monitors. The room seemed to hold it’s breath as Agent Barton strode into the room, stride smooth and face impassive. He snapped a sharp salute to Director Fury and the Judge before shifting to stand at parade rest. Only those who knew him well would notice the tiny tells that showed how hard it was for him to stand there. It was only two weeks since he had been a prisoner of the WSC.

 

“Why is he wearing that?” Pepper asked softly, nodding to where Clint was standing at parade rest in a dress Army uniform.

“He technically was never discharged from the Army. He served as a Ranger and was given to Shield on loan.” Natasha said making a tiny gesture to the Shield emblem that sat on one upper arm.

The next ten hours were bureaucracy at it’s best. The WSC argued every point they could from the pure amount of detail listed in Agent Barton’s reports (eidetic memory), his service record with the Army (massively redacted), the various missions listed as failures in his tenure as a Shield Agent (few and far between), it went on and on, each item being detailed from both sides of the courtroom.

It took another six days before the WSC were forced to drop every charge they had leveled against Agent Barton. In that time, Barton was kept isolated on base in solitary confinement until the trial was complete. The panel judging the trial even recommended that he receive compensation from the WSC for the treatment he received while in their care.

 

“Thank god that is over.” Pepper said once they were in the air and away from the WSC’s idiocy. They, thankfully, had not had to pull out any of their trump cards such as announcing to the press that one of the Avengers was being imprisoned by the WSC when he was supposed to be one of the “Protectors of the Realm”.

“Would anyone care for a drink?”  At a murmur of consent from most of the plane she and a stewardess quickly dispensed drinks to everyone.

“How long until we’re back in at the tower?” Bruce asked, sipping at his ginger ale.

“A week, we’re headed to Colorado.” Clint said from the back, emerging in his normal black attire, carrying his uniform over one arm in a garment case.

“Nice, thanks for ruining the surprise, Legolas.” Tony snarked over the loud complaints from the rest of the team.

“Seriously, no one else bothered to check the flight plans?” Clint asked, blinking at Natasha and Coulson who simply gave him bland smiles.

“I hear the foliage is beautiful this time of year.” Coulson deadpanned as he continued to work on paperwork to one side.

“Tony, I really can’t put my research on hold that long.” Bruce pointed out.

“Relax. We’re heading to a house I have in the mountains. It even has a small lab and of course Jarvis is integrated. Your research will be ready and waiting for when we get there.”

“And the rest of us?” Steve asked, eyeing the others on the team.

“Get to enjoy an all expense paid vacation, barring any massive need for the Avengers. It’s already been cleared with Shield and the Fantastic Four will be picking up the slack for the next seven days. It’s all covered Cap, so sit back and enjoy the downtime for once.”

Clint settled down next to Natasha on one bench, giving her a slight smile when she pulled his head to her shoulder.

“You haven't been sleeping, rest. Even in a Stark jet we have a few hours until we get there.”

Four hours later he woke, his head in her lap and one hand playing with the fuzz of hair that was trying to grow in. He sat up and gave her a small smile of thanks before heading to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

“How much longer?” he asked once he was back.

“We’re almost there. Just a short drive in and we are grounded for the duration.” she offered. He gave a small nod, his body falling into the relax stillness that was his normal state around the team. It lasted until she poked him in the shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“Russia, ‘07.” he offered making her grin. It was an old game with them, naming the worst mission they had ever been on together and comparing to the one they were currently on.

“This will be nothing like that.” she said firmly.

“Should we ask?” Bruce pressed gently.

“Only if you want to hear about how we almost froze to death during a snowstorm while I tried to keep this idiot from bleeding to death.”

“Flesh wound.” Clint pointed out.

“You lost two inches of muscle.”

“Medical grew it back.”He shrugged.

“Not the point.”

“Can’t be worse than the resort outside of Milan.” he offered with a grin at Coulson.

“I thought we all agreed that we would never speak of that trip ever again.”

“No you ordered us to never speak of it again.” Natasha said, shifting to lean so she could see what he was working on only for him to start closing files.

“Are they always like this?” Steve asked watching the two assassins who were now pushing at each other like teenagers stuck together in the backseat of a car on a long trip.

“Trust me, this is them being nice, wait until they get bored. The last downtime we had together they burned down the resort.”

“Only because it was hiding a Hydra base.” Clint cut in, trying to get out of the headlock Natasha had him in while both were still seat-belted. Bruce was watching looking slightly impressed at just how flexible the archer was. Clint did something that actually made Natasha giggle before she began cursing him in eleven different dialects making Steve’s ears burn. Thankfully the plane landed before either managed to hog tie the other with the nearby seat-belts.

 

In normal Stark fashion the house they arrive at was massive, a modern log cabin full of glass and multiple levels hugging the edge of a cliff while an old growth hardwood forest spread out behind them for as far as they could see.

“Run?” he asked Natasha, glancing at a trail leading off into the forest.

“In the morning, you need to take your meds.”

“Seriously? I just want to know how you got through six days of trial while recovering from Pneumonia and didn’t cough once.” Tony snarked good naturedly.

“Training.” Clint said deadpan, eyeing the trees. “Well, that and the inhalers R&D gave me. Takes two days to wear off, hoping I’m over most of the cough by then.”

They separated to find their rooms, Clint murmuring a quick hello to Jarvis as he hung up his uniform in the closet. Natasha did not understand his dedication to the men he had served under in the Army or his fondness for his time spent as a Ranger. Coulson and him had exchanged stories a few times but even Phil was not part of the group of insane men that he had ran with.

They were the ones who had built back up the abused young man who was just happy to have somewhere relatively safe to sleep most nights. They were the ones who taught him to take his circus name and use it as a mask to cover his true self from further damage. They put up with his quirks and respected those that he could not explain away. They gave him something to channel his energy and sense of duty into, giving him a sense of purpose and a home no one could take away from him. He would always have a place at the side of those men.  

Giving the uniform a final pat he gathered the sack of medications that Shield Medical still had him on and took it to the kitchen. He sat at the over sized bar with Bruce nibbling on corn chips while he portioned out the fifteen pills he had to take with dinner. Shoving the pill bottles that needed to stay chilled in the fridge, he left the rest to one side of the counter. Tony had already called out for food and they were just waiting on it to arrive.

 

“Any plans for the week?”

“Does wandering around the woods with a bow count as a plan?”

“Only if you plan to bring back dinner, Katniss.”

“Only if you plan to be the one to butcher it, Stark.”

“Touche, bring back whatever you like, I have a chef coming in for the rest of the week anyway.”

Clint nodded already mentally planning to try and bag a good sized deer or boar by the end of the week just to make Stark eat it.

 

It turned into a nice week overall. Clint seemed to finally be over his pneumonia and the injuries he sustained while held by the WSC. Clint went running each morning with either Steve or Natasha and on one occasion Bruce who did passable parkour when pressed. They ragged him about it for a day or two but forced out a promise to run with them more often when they got back to New York. They swam in the lake the house overlooked and watched movies lazing about in the afternoons.

Clint and Stark continued to butt heads throughout the week, mainly over Stark wanting to discuss the patents and designs he held rights over with Shield. Stark wanted to buy some of the designs for marketing and Clint steadfastly refused without Stark explicitly explaining how each design would altered or what it was being applied toward. Coulson finally offered to work with Pepper to review the designs to stop the escalating argument.

They spent a lazy afternoon fishing and lazing on the large dock near the house while Tony and Bruce spent hours in the lab working on something that was vitally important for world safety that the others would not be able to help with. Clint interrogated Jarvis after that announcement afraid of what they were working on but even Jarvis would not reveal their project.

  
  
  
***


	27. Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's aim is still off and it is stressing him out.

  
The Avengers had been called out three times in the last two months and it was stressing Clint out. His aim was still slightly off. Not enough to pull him from the field but enough that he was constantly training trying to correct the drift. 

He was firing arrow after arrow trying to herd the mechanical bees toward the trap Tony and Bruce had constructed when it happened. Instinct had him turning and firing before his mind fully processed the scene. Steve was pinned down against a wall by a massive pair of bees, he twisted away to dodge a metal stinger and Clint's first arrow kissed the edge of his jaw before burying itself in the second bee that had been about to  stab him in the neck, the second taking out the first bee's eye. Steve managed to  take out the bee pinning him in muttering a quick "Thanks, Hawkeye." into the com before turning to take on the next bee.

 

Clint barely breathed for the rest of the fight. He had almost killed Steve. Half an inch to the right and that arrow would have been in his throat. He had almost killed his team member.

 

He let the others fuss over him and let medical check out the handful of bruises and cuts he had before heading for the tower. He ignored the looks Coulson was giving him, he knew he would have to deal with him later, he never missed when Clint was locked in a bad headspace.

 

He was at the range practicing when Steve finally found him.

 

"Sure you want to be practicing after such a long battle?"

"Call it stress relief. What'd you need, Cap?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That was a long battle. I was surprised when Jarvis said you were at the range. Everyone else went to their rooms to catch some sleep."

"I'll head up in a bit, just trying to get the jitters out so I can sleep."

"See that you do. Good work today, Clint." Steve said turning back to head to his own floor.

"Thanks, Cap." Clint managed to say, voice even and calm as he took the next shot.

 

Taking a few breathes once Steve was gone he finished his quiver and cleaned up the range. Heading to his own floor he went to shower and change. Once clean he pulled out a file folder of paperwork he had been saving. Quickly signing and dating where needed he closed the folder.

 

"Jarvis, is Coulson still in the building?"

"No, Agent Barton. Liaison Coulson has left for the evening."

"Thanks, Jarvis. I'll just leave this on his desk." he said heading to the spare room Phil had taken over as an office on his floor. Setting the folder on the desk where Phil would find it, Clint headed back to his own room to try and get some sleep.

 

At seven the next morning Coulson came in to pick up some paperwork before heading into Shield for the day.

"Jarvis, do you know who left the folder on my desk?"  
"Agent Barton left it for you last night, Liaison Coulson."

"Thank you, Jarvis." Coulson said, quickly paging through the documents. "Is Clint awake yet?"  
"He is not however considering his sleeping pattern last night he should be awake soon."

"Bad night?" 

"Agent Barton has slept approximately three hours total, the rest of the night was spent exercising or showering."

"Thank you, Jarvis." Coulson said gathering the rest of his paperwork and a tablet.

 

 

Taking everything to Clint's room he settled silently into a chair on the other side of the room. The other man lay in bed, his muscles twitching as he dreamed.  Barely ten minutes later Clint bolted upright with a scream, gasping for breath before he bolted to the bathroom. Phil winced as he heard the sounds of the other man vomiting. When the shower came on he set everything to the side and went to the kitchen to make two mugs of tea.

Returning to the bedroom he settled down on the other side of the bed, tea on the nightstand, sitting up next to the headboard. Clint came out of the bedroom wearing only his boxers to watch Phil blankly for a moment before he climbed into the bed next to Phil wrapping an arm loosely over his hips. 

"Bad night?" Clint gave a small snort at that, pressing his face into Phil's hip, his body molded down the length of his leg like Phil was a lover. Phil knew it was just seeking touch, comfort, something Clint had been denied much too often in his life.

"Care to explain why you are asking to be set to inactive status with Shield?"

"I shot Steve."

"I was not aware the Captain was injured."

"I caught his jaw in the battle. He almost took the arrow through his throat, half an inch." Clint choked. Phil sighed and stroked his hand along the back of Clint's neck and shoulders.

"Clint, I've worked with you for years and sometimes accidents happen in battle. You creased my cheek once hitting the guy about to stab me in the back. You've done the same to Natasha countless times if you count every time she bitched that you cut a lock of her hair. People are in motion in battles and not even you can always predict where they will move to. Did Steve call you on it?"

"No, he thanked me."

"Do you want to be removed from only the Shield missions? What about the Avengers?"

"Doubt the team would let me be grounded if I'm not in a coma or something."

"I'll submit the paperwork if you want me to but I doubt Director Fury is going to sign it, Clint."

"Okay. Thanks, Phil."

"Want to tell me what had you up all night?"

"Lots of stuff."

"Well, we have all day. Would you like to try and sleep a little more or have some tea?"

"Stayin'?"

"As long as you want me to."

"Ok." Clint said with a small sniff. "Can I just stay like this a bit?"

"Sure, long as you like." Phil said taking a sip of his tea before pulling out his tablet to start on the days tasks. He needed to cancel his meetings for the day and give Fury a heads up on the incoming paperwork. Once that is done he dropped one hand back to Clint's neck, stroking along the faintly scarred skin as he read up on several upcoming ops.

"It was all mixed up, Loki, the team, the WSC." Clint said softly, his voice rough.

"Mixed up how?" Phil questioned calmly moving his hand to stroke firm circles along Clint's shoulders. He absently wished that Natasha was here, they had finally convinced her to take a short op and she would not be back for another week.

"It was the team fucking me, beating me... or I was shooting them while under Loki's control." he said with a shudder, shifting closer to Phil like he was seeking warmth.

"You know they would never hurt you." It was not a question but Clint gave a soft hum of agreement. "You would never hurt them intentionally, either." Clint had no response to this and Phil suppressed another sigh. 

Clint Barton might be an assassin and a killer but he also was the most caring and loyal person Phil knew. He feed stray dogs on every ops he went on, gave food or money to the homeless he encountered, emptying his pockets and kit until he had the bare minimum to get through the mission. He was at his most ruthless and vicious when dealing with child abusers or prostitution rings. He might be a very private person but those he trusted he did so utterly. He would die for others in a heartbeat and had tried to on several ops, taking bullets or knife wounds for Natasha or Phil.

 

Clint had spent most of his early life being abused or used in one manner or another. It was a miracle that he had turned out as well as he had and Phil could not longer imagine a world without his two assets. When Clint died he would leave thousands of live behind that had been saved or improved in some small way because of his actions and only a handful of people would ever be aware of it.

 

Phil let his hand fall away, pulling away slightly to take another sip of cooling tea and to start up another email. Clint was finally asleep and he had no intention of moving until the archer did. Maybe he could pressure Shield medical again about contacting another specialist on cancers caused by radiation and energy exposure.

 


	28. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint collapses.

 

***

 

Clint groaned, his head had hurt all day and now it was keeping him awake. It was four in the morning and he was supposed to have the day off. He was sure Shield would realize the mistake and put him back to work but for now he was going to sleep in...if he could ever get to sleep.

He struggled to sit up, fighting with the sheets. His head was a solid throb of pain and he struggled to clear the fuzz from his mind. It felt like the last time he was stabbed and lost too much blood, maybe he was anemic. Either way he needed to get up. He made it to the side of the bed and sat there wavering as the lights slowly came up, giving just enough light to head to the bathroom if he needed to.

The room tilted for a moment before he managed to blink it back straight. Yep, he needed to call Coulson or someone. His phone was in the living room, he just had to get there. Standing, he staggered a few steps to the open bedroom doorway, gripping it as the room tilted around him.

“Jarvis.” he managed to slur, his voice not wanting to work right.

“How can I assist you, Agent Barton?” Jarvis asked as he brought the lights the rest of the way up. He analyzed the data coming from his medical scanners. Agent Barton’s vitals were in normal ranges yet he was not acting as he normally would upon waking.

“Jarvis.” Clint gasped as his legs buckled out from under him, he fought to breathe as he vision greyed out. He never heard Jarvis saying that he was alerting the tower to a medical emergency as his body began to seize.

 

Coulson paced the hallway of the hospital waiting on the Doctor to bring Clint back from his scan. They managed to stop the visible seizures and sedated Barton so that they could do another scan of his brain. The physicians were certain that one of the tumors was placing pressure on certain areas of the brain causing the seizures. They started Clint on anti-inflammatories, hoping to keep the swelling to a minimum. Now they just had to wait for Clint to wake up and see where he was mentally.

The rest of the team minus Natasha were at the tower waiting on news. Coulson had sent them home when it was clear that Clint was not dying, just sick. Natasha was probably going to kill him but he refused to contact her on a mission until they were sure what was going on. Once Clint was stable he would send her a message which would mean she would escaliate her misson and be home ten hours later if he knew her.

 

Doctor Phillips followed Clint’s bed back into the room, grabbing the raised table for the bed and spreading out several films from the scan.

“You can see the tumor here, it appears to be pressing against his speech centers, it might also be affecting his balance. We won't know for sure until he wakes up. For now we are going to leave him hooked up to the EEG so we can measure if he starts having any more seizures.”

“How long until he wakes up?” Coulson pressed.

“The sedation should wear off in the next hour but it could be a few hours before his brain recovers enough from the seizures to really wake up. You need to understand that seizures can basically reboot the brain, sometimes it takes time for everything to come back online. Don’t be concerned if he wakes up confused or does not respond at first, some patients I have had took up to an hour to truly become fully conscious after a seizure even if they appear awake and mobile.”

“Like having a severe concussion.” Coulson said with a nod, he had dealt with enough of those.

“Exactly, let the nurse know as soon as he wakes up.” the doctor said, finishing what he was writing in the chart and gathering up the films.

 

Two hours later, Clint finally opened his eyes. Coulson hit the nurse call button as he quickly slipped his hearing aids in. Clint continued to watch him passively, it was disturbing to see the utter lack of expression on the archers face.

The nurse and doctor came in and it was even worse to see the normally tense man be completely docile and silent as he was poked and prodded. He showed no reaction to anything beyond pulling his hand away after he was pinched to see his reaction to pain. He did not seem to not recognize anything in the room or being said to him.

Coulson fought to keep his reaction to himself. It chilled him to see his asset laying there seeming perfectly in body yet completely absent in mind. It was one of the main things that had terrified Clint, he never wanted to be the mindless drooling body left to rot somewhere until it finally died to join his mind. He had made both Phil and Natasha promise to pull the plug on him if it ever happened.

Suddenly Clint twitched, jerking away from the nurse, who stepped back to give him space. Clint gasped for air like he was coming up from a dive, eyes darting to take in the room and it’s occupants. He jaw worked like he was trying to say something yet nothing came out making his eyes edge wider as his breathing speed a notch faster.

 

“Clint, can you hear me? Nod if you can.” Coulson cut in, gesturing the looming Doctor back.

Clint gave a quick nod, his hands shaking as he signed the same thing.

“Good, the doctors said you might have problems speaking. It’s to be expected.”

Clint gave another quick nod, his gaze snapping to the doctor who stepped forward.

“Sorry, but I need you to try and answer a few questions to see where you are. Take your time and answer as you can.”

Clint gave another nod.

“Good, can you tell me your name?” Clint clearly fought for several moments to say it before shakily signing it complete with rank, Coulson translating for the doctor.

“Thank you, but I need to know that you can say it audibly. Can you tell me what this is?” he asked  holding out a pen. Clint managed to make a small groaning sound of frustration but not the actual word.

“Ok, take a moment and think about what you want to say. Maybe to your handler. Hold the words in your mind a moment before you try and speak them.” Clint watched Phil steadily for a few moments before he pushed out each word like he was ripping barbed arrows from his chest.

“Can’t...promise...Phil.”

“And what were you trying to say?”

“I know what he was saying.” Phil said flatly. “I made him a promise years ago. I don’t think we are quite there yet, Clint.”

Clint gave a shaky nod, trusting his handler to know when he really was too far gone to be worth saving.  

The next time Clint woke the words came easier with his speech seeming to be fully back in place after another 24 hours. He spent another three days in the hospital for tests before he was sent home. He would stay at the tower until he had another seizure or another symptom that medical could treat. As it was he was off the duty roster for further notice for both Shield and the Avengers. His balance was slightly off and his legs were shaky, barely letting him get from the bed to the bathroom and back without falling. He was grounded until someone came up with a cure for cancer or he finally gave up the fight.


	29. Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor returns and the team goes to Asgard to plead for a cure for Clint.

***

 

Clint and Natasha are spooned together in bed with Phil reading in the armchair when Natasha’s phone goes off with the Avenger’s assemble sound.

 

“Pardon the interruption, everyone is being asked to assemble on the common level.” Jarvis announced softly from somewhere in the ceiling.

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Natasha said giving Clint a hug before moving off the bed. “Want to come?”

“Nah, let me know what it is later.” Clint says with a tired smile.

The doctors have him on a fist full of medications that seem to do nothing more than make him constantly sleepy. It has been raining steadily all day and Clint has no intention of leaving his bed.  Somehow he is nearly always cold and has spent the last week since getting out of the hospital wandering around in Jeans, thick socks, and one of the two sweaters he owns. Natasha bought him several black and grey sweaters claiming it was unsanitary to wear one sweater for that many days, especially when you were sick. Once they left he pried himself out of bed and spent a bit of time getting cleaned up in the bathroom before making his slow way back to bed.

 

“Jarvis, is there anything I need to know?” Clint asked settling on his stomach and trying to ignore how just going the ten feet to the bathroom and back exhausted him.

“Master Odinson has arrived at the tower and is in a meeting with the team.”

“That’s good. Have to ask how his mom is.” Clint slurred as he slid back into sleep, dreams filled with dark shadows to prowl in as he stalked some unknown threat.

 

Several floors below him the meeting was not going well.

“Christ! How many times does Barton have to prove that he’s a hero. He has been working his ass off to save the people around him from the Army, Shield, and now with us for half his life! The man is a fucking machine! What if Odin decides that Clint doesn’t qualify, huh, what then point break?” Tony snapped, pacing in a tight line.

“If Odin does not agree that our Eye of the Hawk is worthy of the golden mead then he will at least be granted access to the Halls of Valhalla to complete his eternal rest as a storied warrior of valor and justice.”

Clint’s treatment must be decided by Odin who has agreed to allow Clint and the team to come plead his case. It was believed that the mead made from the Golden Apples would cure Clint and restore him to health but it was not something given out lightly. Phil gave a sharp nod.

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as everyone has packed for the journey and Clint is ready.” Thor said watching the Agent as he gave a sharp nod pulling out his phone to start arranging things.

“I’ll go get Clint ready.” Natasha said heading for the stairs.

 

Once she reached his rooms she paused for a moment silently watching him sleep, noting the small twitches of hands and legs, he was shooting, running, or both in his dream. She noted the changed clothes and damp hair with a small smile, he had showered while they were meeting.

She pulled out his go pack, uniform, weapons and quickly put together a second dufflebag of the warm clothes he has been favoring along with his medications and a few odds and ends. That done she went and gathered her own go pack, weapons, and uniform to add to the pile before settling next to Clint, the shift of the bed waking him.

 

“Hey.” She said with a small smile, tugging at the dark blue sweater he was wearing, admiring how the dark material clung to him.

“Hey. They want me to come down?” He asked, rubbing a hand along his face.

“Thor’s back. He wants us to go back to Asgard with him, he might have a cure for you but we have to prove to Odin that you are worth using it.”

“Nice.” he said pulling himself up and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I packed for you. Anything beyond normal you want to bring?”

“The longbow, Thor wanted me to do a demo for the three if I ever got up there.” he grunted as he pulled on his combat boots.

She handed him the soft leather jacket he always wore when they had downtime and gathered up the bags, watching as he got himself ready. It took a focused effort not to hover or help as he pried himself out of the mattress and stood, pulling on his jacket. They made their way to the elevator, Clint propping himself into one corner for the ride down. It hurt her to see him so weak, when she had left for her op he was fit and mostly pain free. Now he was in near constant pain thanks to the headaches, muscle spasms, and tremors that wracked his frame randomly.

Clint settled into a couch on the common level trying to ignore the way the others watched his slow progress across the room. Phil and Thor were consulting to one side while Bruce and Steve added their bags to the mound next to one wall. One minute he was muzzily watching Bruce trying to sneakily pack extra tea in his bag, the next Phil was calling his name, the rest of the team already grabbing up bags.

He grumbled absently about drugs as he pulled himself out of the deep couch and forced his tired limbs to the door. He leaned against Natasha on the landing pad, the others forming a loose circle next to them. Phil slid next to him pulling one arm across his suited shoulders, the other hand gripping the back of Clint’s belt. His partners would not let him fall.

When the swirl of rainbow colored light and sound is gone he is glad for the support. They exchange a calm nod with Heimdal and head outside to the waiting group of horses and the Warriors three who rode with them. Clint exchanges a small smirk with Phil, he had sworn on one op that he would never ride another horse if he had the option of shooting it first.

It was a fast ride back to the city and palace. Clint knew he impressed the warriors with his easy seat and his automatic movements to compensate for the other rider, Phil sitting behind him with one arm wrapped around his waist. Once they halted, Clint helped Phil side off first and tried to use the time to get his trembling legs to steady but it was no use. He slid off and let Phil catch most of his weight, he could feel the other asgardians eyes on him as he fought to pull his feet under him. A deep breath later he pushes away from Phil, locking his mind into mission mode, he can do anything there.

 

“Tonight there will be a banquet in your honor. Mother has asked that you be given three days to recover from the trip before the trials begin. I will show you to your rooms.” Thor said solemnly, eyes taking in the exhaustion he knows the archer is hiding.

Clint barely takes his surroundings, concentrating on walking smoothly behind Thor, flanked by Phil and Natasha. He knows it is opulent and rather like some of the sultan’s palaces he had stalked through on missions. The rooms they are shown to are massive, the bed at one end could fit ten and is going to take a running leap to get into.  Natasha has found a tray full of various beverages and makes him a goblet of water so he can take his meds, the water is cold and sharp on his tongue flavored with some unknow herbs but it clears his head so he forces himself to drain the cup before handing it back.

Natasha gives him a challenging grin and tosses herself lightly into the middle of the bed in one smooth vault. Clint give a small huff and takes two quick steps to vault off the wall and twist to land next to her making her bounce with a laugh. They both turn and give identical grins to Phil who simply shakes his head, shedding his shoes and jacket before repeating Clint’s feat with only one extra bounce off one massive post of the bed.

Hours later they wake him to get cleaned up for dinner. They are shown to a massive dining hall where they join the rest of the team and seeming dozens of others. The wooden tables are should be groaning under the food that covers them, meats and fruit of every variety, cheese and bread, and of course wine and mead.

Clint nibbles what he can but between the meds and the travel he is exhausted and wants nothing more than to curl up in some corner and sleep. He forces himself to sit straight and tall, joining in on the conversation occasionally but mostly letting it flow around him. After a few hours, Coulson gives his regrets and asks for his leave to head to bed, Clint and Natasha follow him after thanking their hosts. Clint strides out of the hall in mission mode, eyes focused on Phil’s back, his stride the predatory gait he normally avoided around his friends. Clint says nothing as Phil drops back, his arms encircling his hip, drawing his arm over his shoulders once they are out in the halls trying to ignore the tremors that will not leave his hands as Clint lets the mask fall and sags against him for a moment before they continue their way to their room.

 


	30. Asgard take two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second day in Asgard.

***

 

The next day was slower. The team had a lazy breakfast with the warriors three and Thor before they were shown to the training grounds and left to their own devices. Tony and Bruce were soon in conversation with several magic users trying to compare Asgardian technology to that of Midgard. Natasha was having an animated conversation with the the warriors in between sparring bouts while Phil talked with Thor and several other guards probably trying to get more information about the trials that Odin wished Clint to endure.

Clint spent the time leaning against a small tree on the edge of the training area enjoying the sun as it slowly defrosted the cold he could not seem to shake. He had begged off training until the next day hoping his strength would continue to improve. He was feeling better today after a long uninterrupted nights sleep and doing light stretches with Natasha before they went to breakfast.

He watched the others pause in their training as a Thor’s mother, Frigga, and two of her handmaids walked out and settled next to him, waving him back down when he went to stand as they approached.

“Stay, you look much better rested today, Eye of the Hawk.”

“Thank you, Madame. It is nice to have time to relax on such a lovely day.”

‘You have never been one to relax have you, Hawk.”

“No, Madame. I have always seemed to have more important things that need to get done.”

“If you were cured of your illness do you see yourself taking more time to relax?”

“No, Madame. There are always others who have use of my skills, people to protect. Idle hands have always meant that others might get hurt because I was not prepared or able to assist. I would not give up my life as a warrior unless I knew there were others who could step up to replace me. Right now I do not see that on Midgard.”

“You intend to keep fighting even if you are not proven worthy of the mead?”

“Yes, Madame, as long as I am able.”

“Then I advise you to rest well, Eye of the Hawk. In two days you will face trials that few Asgardians would be able to conquer.” she said reaching out and running a feather light touch along his brow.

He meant to make some snappy comeback yet he suddenly found it hard to breathe as Frigga stood and turned to move away. He must have made some choked noise that made her turn back because he saw her eyes widen before his sight went black as the seizure claimed his body.

He came to being cradled by Natasha, his body automatically fighting against the hold she had him in, the soft chant of his name in one ear eventually penetrating the fog.  He heaved several deep breathes in as he slowly forced his trembling limbs to relax. He coughed weakly twisting away from the cloth that was brushing his face.

“Tasha.” Clint said, his voice sounding wrecked. He forced his eyes open, fighting to not flinch at the bright sun. The team ringed him, preventing the Asgardians from approaching. Frigga and Thors stood to one side waiting.

“There you are.” Natasha said, tucking the bloody cloth away, his nose must have bleed or something he figured given the taste filling his mouth. “Ready to get up?”

“Sure.” he said forcing himself to sit up and away from her. Steve offered a hand and pulled Clint up to stand next to him, his arm an iron bar around his chest. Clint fought to keep his feet moving and under him but Steve was doing most of the work of keeping him upright, his balance and body was wrecked. Once they reached his rooms Natasha and Phil took him and eased him onto one of the benches.

“Thanks, Steve.”

“Anytime, Hawkeye.”

Clint gave a wince when he realized he had pissed himself, hoping Steve had not noticed but not having much confidence in that denial with how sensitive Steve’s nose was. He struggled off the bench and made his slow way to the bath, ignoring how Natasha hovered. Once clean and changed into the clothes Phil brought, he let them help him up onto the bed, Natasha clutching him close.

“Still here, Tash.”

“You scared me, Clint.” He tried to pull her tighter against him but his coordination was still shot, him muscles burning and aching from the strain. He fought to get his hand to work before giving a snarl of frustration and pushing her more firmly against him with his forearms.

“Hate this.” he snarled, fighting through another tremor that wracked his body making him shake in her arms.

“Queen Frigga wanted to offer the royal physicians if you needed them. I said we would call if they were needed. Do you need anything, Clint?”

“No, I’m okay. Would like you up here though.”

“On my way.” Phil said with a small grin, taking off his coat and tie before hauling himself into the high bed. Once he had settled in on the other side of Clint the three of them were able to slowly relax. With the other two present they had three weapons to take out any threat which meant they did not have to constantly be on point for an attack.

“Why did I scare you, Tash? You’ve known about the seizures.”

“I haven’t seen you like that before. You didn’t know us at first once the convulsions stopped, you were snarling and fighting to get away from me. Your nose was bleeding and you had blood all over your face.”

“Loki all over again.” Clint muttered with a sigh, exhaustion weighing down his limbs. “I don’t want you guys trying to see him. I don’t want him using me against you again.”

“We won't, doubt they would let us anyway considering both of us would probably shoot him in the eye at this point. Thor might even let us.”

“His dad would be pissed.” Clint muttered, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Didn’t mean to scare his mom.”

“I don’t think she was scared, Clint. More worried for you. Frigga is a healer herself so she understands that some illnesses cannot be healed better than most.”

“She smelled like my mother.”

“I had not noticed her smell. It might simply be part of being a Mother deity. What did she smell like?”

“Ivory soap and bread. Don’t remember a whole lot about her but she liked to bake.” he shifted closer, burying his nose in Natasha’s hair, trying to ignore the memories of pain that filled most of his childhood. He had few nice memories of his mother before her death, only one or two memories of vague scents and murmurs of song.

“Do you need a pain pill?”

“Na uh.” he mumbled letting the exhaustion pull him into sleep. The two took turns soothing him when his memories filled his dreams full of the scent of whiskey and blood.

 


	31. Asgard take three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day three in Asgard.

***

 

Clint fought to ignore his body the next morning. He’d had another seizure last night and had spent several hours in a fog, not sure what was going on around him before his brain chemistry reset itself or something. He forced shaking hands to dress himself in cargo pants and an oversized oatmeal colored sweater he wore over another tee shirt. He steadfastly ignored the fact that Phil had been the one to tie his boots.

He fought to ignored the looks Natasha was giving him when he left most of the weapons off. His entire body had a constant slight tremor. He didn’t trust himself to have to make a shot with a gun, only taking a few knives and his bow case for that afternoon. He was certain he could at least still shot his bow, even if it was not as exactly accurate as he normally was.

After another lazy breakfast they were escorted to the training area outside with various warriors ribbing Clint good naturedly about his skills and his short stature compared to Asgardian warriors and even Migardians. Clint stayed silent, offering bland smiles to the jesters, he had heard much worse over the years. Part of the training area had been converted into a small archery range for the afternoon and he shared a feral grin with Natasha at the nearness of the targets as he pulled off the baggy sweater.

He broke open his case, ignoring the fact that the actual starting line for the archery range was some distance away. Readying his bow and pulling on his quiver, gloves and arm guard he let himself still and slip into the sniper’s mindset where everything but his targets fell away. Drawing he began rapidly firing, one arrow to each target dead center and just because he could he swiveled and took out a bird flying overhead, the body dropping at the feet of a pair of guards.

He switched weapons after a while to the longbow, shooting an even greater distance before he went back to the compound bow he favored. He spent the rest of the morning doing various impossible shots that the warriors came up with only refusing when they wanted him to shoot objects they were holding or off of people’s heads. Even compensating his aim was still off slightly, listing just to the right of the dead center of the bullseye. He forced himself to ignore it, considering his hands were still trembling and his entire body felt leaden with exhaustion he figured it was good enough.

After lunch Phil returned pulling the rest of the team into their rooms. Clint and Natasha were propped up on a pile of pillows on the floor while the others found seats where they could. There was a distinct lack of couches in Asgard.

“Odin has decided what the trials will be. We will not know what the actual tests are until tomorrow but they will consist of a test of Honor, one of valor, and one of strength.”

“How exactly do they test someone’s honor?” Bruce asked hesitantly, “That’s not exactly a standard variable person to person.”

“None of this is exactly operating on scientific principles, Bruce.” Steve said with a frown, turning back to Phil. “How can we help?”

“Jarvis and I put together a list of Clint’s accomplishments if we need it to sway Odin but until we know what the trials are we just have to prepare for all eventualities.” Phil said with a grim smile. Clint shared a small smile with Natasha, there was their eternal boy scout, prepared for anything and everything. The team settled in for the rest of the day to plan and in Clint and Natasha’s case, clean weapons.

“No trying to steal the mead, assassin twins.” Tony snarked from one side, fiddling with a tablet. Clint and Natasha flicked him off in unison.


	32. The Trials start.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first trial.

***

 

_Day Four, the testing begins. A test of honor, valor, and strength._

 

Clint wore his armor, trying to ignore the fact that it hung a bit loose on his frame, quiver at his back and bow open on his shoulder. He was not sure how he would have to prove his honor or even his valor. Only the test of strength was certain, that was always a number of bouts against other warriors of Asgard, it apparently was considered an honor to be chosen.

The team at his back, Clint approached the thrones at one end of the testing room. The rest of the room was filled with spectators who would watch the testing from the outside of the circular depression where the testing would take place. Clint stopped before Odin and Frigga, widening his stance in to a parade rest as he waited for the show to begin.

 

“We are gathered this day to judge whether or not, Clint Francis Barton, known as Eye of the Hawk, a member of Midgard’s Avengers and Shield is worthy of receiving the golden mead.  Today, Eye of the Hawk, will face three challenges, one of Honor, one of Valor, and one of Strength. Once the challenges are complete those that wish to speak for or against him may do so before judgement is passed. Are you ready to begin the trials, Eye of the Hawk?”

“I am, sir.”

“Then step into the circle.”

Clint forced his stride to remain slow and even as he made his way to the center of the room, a low circular depression. The rest of the room shifted to follow his progress. Once he reached the center the room went dark, the crowds suddenly gone from his vision. Great... magic, he thought with a mental snarl. Something slowly slid into focus to one side, forcing Clint to shift to track it. It resolved in a swirl of golden light into a child strapped to a massive bomb.

 

“I’ve already done this once.” he said walking forward to kneel next to the child stroking one hand along her shoulder.

“Would you change your actions, Eye of the Hawk?”

“No, I would not leave a child to die alone or to burn alive while she watched me walk away and I will not now.” he said, leaning forward and pulling the child into a firm hug for a moment, stroking her hair before he snapped her neck with one smooth motion. Letting the body slide from his lap he carefully arranged her limbs before standing and moving back to the center of the circle.

 

The child dissolved into a golden mist of magic before sliding into a new shape, that of his brother, bow drawn and arrow aimed at Clint’s heart. Clint flinched back, pulling his own bow before he could stop himself. Most people would think they were looking at the red headed twin of Clint. Barney was a few inches taller, maybe more heavily muscled but standing across from each other the similarities outweighed the differences.

 

“Would you change his fate?”

“If I thought he would accept a chance to change, yes.” Clint choked out, his voice sounding strangled. “I couldn’t let him keep going, destroying everything he touched. He was my brother and he beat me bloody every chance he got for years and I still tried to give him an out, he left me with two broken legs in a gutter the first time, bleeding out on a roof the second. I knew one of us had to die to end it, me or him.”

“Would you have given your life for him?”

“If it would have made a difference, yes, but Barney was broken. Me dying would not have changed him, it might have even made him worse.”

“Then make your choice.”

“It’s not a choice.” he muttered, even as he pulled an arrow back and released, forcing himself to watch it hit, watching as Barney dissolved into golden mist before reforming into the next test.

 

The golden mist slowly resolved into a younger looking Anthony Stark, wearing an expensive suit and grinning at Clint while sipping from a champagne glass.

“You remember this, Stark? Your twenty fifth birthday, Paris?” Clint actually gave a bark of a laugh at having to explain his actions. “Some mafia clown wanted you dead and offered a ton of money to anyone who could do it from a distance while you were at your party. Blood covering the marble in front of half the planet’s rich snobs.” He said with a snort, shifting to a crouch, bow loose in his hands. “I watched the idiot boozing around Paris for three days, working on cars and making random inventions, watched Black Widow trying to steal his tech for Mother Russia and getting rebuffed over and over. I turned the job down and took out the mafia boss and half his goons instead. Burned too many bridges and I wound up joining the Army since no one would hire an assassin who bit the hand that feeds it.”

 

“Would you change your actions?”  
“Hell, no.”

 

The golden mist sank into the floor as the darkness resolved itself, revealing the audience still watching him in silence. Clint rose to his feet and shouldered his bow waiting on the next test.


	33. Trials part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Test of Valor

***

 

Day Four on Asgard, Test of Valor

val·or

noun

  1. great courage in the face of danger, esp. in battle. bravery, courage, pluck, nerve, daring, fearlessness, audacity,boldness, dauntlessness, stout-heartedness, heroism, backbone,spirit;

 

“Eye of the Hawk, we may grant a reprieve or we can move on to the test of Valor, the choice is yours.”

“I would continue, sir.”

“Then prepare yourself.” Odin intoned, his voice reminding Clint of Thor’s with it’s gravely edge.

“Yes, sir.” Clint said with a mental sigh, Odin could use some lessons from Director Fury if he was going for intimidating. Again darkness swallowed up the audience, leaving him alone in the center of the room.

  


The scene that rose before him had the blood running from his face, of course it was the village where his ranger team got ambushed. His bow was gone, replaced with a sand colored ghillie suit and a sniper rifle that weighed against his palms. Without thought he bolted through the empty streets, strings of curses falling from his lips as he move at top speed praying he would get the chance to change this one scene at least. He skidded into the main square just as the last body fell, his squad leader turning to him with a blood smeared smile as he set the gun to his own temple and pulled the trigger.

Numb Clint began checking bodies, no one had a pulse. The same as last time, two of his squad came barreling in as he finished his check. This time Clint did not bother with the screaming match, trying to defend himself against his own team members. He just started burying the rest of his team and the refugees they had been sent to extract.

He calmly arranged limbs and closed the eyes of his team leader, one of the few men who had gained his respect. He let the others hate filled words fall on mostly deaf ears as they took his weapons, stripping him out of most of his gear and tearing off the rangers badges. Thankfully the scene ended before they started the twenty day hike back to the extraction point. He was pulled out of the brig on base by Shield and given a new life after that.

  


“Your brothers accused you to being without honor. Why did you not correct them?”

“Because he still would have been dead. The plan went to hell, our team leader went nuts and killed himself, and they showed up to me standing there. I was supposed to be on the other side of town protecting the escape route, not in the square. For all they knew I was the one who pulled the trigger.” Clint paused, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They were new to the team, the ones who died in the square were all on the team with me for years. I fought with them the first time it happened and I still ended up in the brig accused of treason. It didn’t matter.”

  


The magic withdrew dispersing into a dark warehouse. He was in his plain black Shield uniform, it could have been any of several dozen missions but he knew exactly what was happening when the Black Widow came out of a patch of shadow swinging. This was when he captured Natasha for Shield.

Both of them were already injured after striking at each other on and off for the last month, this last fight lasting twelve hours of running the roofs of downtown Boston before they detoured into the warehouse district and the fight got really ugly. What came next was brutal, both using killing moves, trying to get the other to pass out from blood loss before they sucumed themselves. By some miracle Clint was the last one standing and he shoved her limp form over to handcuff and restrain her every way he knew of.

He spent the next four hours arguing with both Shield and Coulson over what to do with the assassin. He knew she had been holding back for most of the fight, only really lashing out in the final hour. She had wanted to be injured enough that when she could not override the burned in instinct to fight that she would not be able to win. She wanted to die and Clint could not help her accomplish that goal.

  


“You directly disobeyed orders to kill a known assassin. You stayed your hand and argued for her to be brought into Shield. Why, was it because she was a woman?”

“You really shouldn’t be asking that where Natasha can hear you.” Clint said with a snort. “It was not because she was a woman or because she was beautiful. I already lost one wife in battle, I’m not about to start dating another fighter. I brought her in because she wanted to die, she let herself get injured, pulled punches and ignored training for most of the fight. The last hour you watched was when we were both going full out, no holds barred, and she was too injured to to keep up. She set herself up to die and I refused to be the one to take her out. I’ve been the one sitting on the  warehouse floor waiting for the bullet too much to put someone else there.”

  


He stayed crouched in the center of the room as the scene went to golden mist, reforming into his next trial. This one was more recent, the attack while he was one the carrier. He lead them through the halls again to the back corridor and silently let the blows fall.

This time, somehow the rants and blows seemed to hurt worse. He knew his team and countless Asgardians were watching him be harassed and beaten. The snarls of Traitor and Killer left him gasping for air as much as the blows. When it was over, he lay there for a moment before prying himself off the floor, the images may be caused by magic but the injuries he received were real enough while the magic lasted, melting away as the last image faded.

  


“You allowed your fellow warriors of Shield to attack you, to accuse you of treason.”

“Yeah, thanks to Loki they needed someone to blame, I was handy.” he said spitting a mouthful of blood to one side.

“You were not to blame for the actions that Loki pressed you into.”

“No, but I am the only one left to blame. They needed someone to take out their pain on and I was there. Whether or not the actions were caused by Loki or not I still killed people I worked with, I killed members of Shield while under Loki’s control. That blood is still on me, even if Loki pulled the trigger.”

  


The dark receded revealing the audience, many of whom were now seated on cushions and holding drinks. Great, his pain was a fucking sports show. Clint slowly stood and fought to control his temper.

  


“Our son, Thor has petitioned that the final test be postponed until the morrow and we are in agreement. We will meet on the morrow at the same appointed time.” Odin said, gesturing with a wine goblet. At his side Frigga watched with a concerned expression.

Clint forced himself to bow to the royal couple before he strode toward the door, Phil and Natasha quickly flanking him. He managed to make it to their rooms and was in the bathing room before the shakes hit. Natasha curled up under the spray next to him, fully dressed, holding him as he fought against the emotions he had ruthlessly repressed during the trials. He finally gave in and cried, letting the spray wash away the tears. Once it was over they both got clean and Phil wrapped them up in thick bathrobes.Clint let them manhandle him into bed, fuzzily watching everything from a distance. He curled on the fur covered bed and let their whispered conversation of “shock” and “exhausted” fade into the background.

 





	34. The trial to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team rests up before the final trial.

***

 

Sometime later he woke vaguely hungry to find the rest of the team laid out around the room. Thor and Steve were still up playing some kind of card game, while Bruce and Tony were curled together on the rugs before the fire like a pair of puppies. He crawled around Natasha and Phil to get off the bed, ignoring the glint of their eyes, if they wanted to talk they could get up with him.

He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathing room to change. Leaving off the shoes for now he pulled on a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, tucking his hands in the overly long sleeves. By the time he came out everyone had been woken up and were slowly shuffling around.

He settled next to Steve accepting the goblet that Natasha handed him and making a face at the pills she shoved at him once he had taken a sip. He obediently took them, a few at a time as he finished off his water.

 

“What do you need?” Natasha asked, sitting down to one side.

“Beyond something to eat? Nothing, I’m good. What time is it?”

“Still late, probably around 11pm or so.” Bruce said with a slight smile, “Time apparently runs slightly different here so all of our watches say something different.”

“Clint…” Steve began hesitantly.

“Shit, Tasha. What did you guys tell them?” Clint snapped, twisting to face Phil.

“Nothing, your life is personal and only yours to share if you want to.” Phil said calmly, setting a plate of meat, bread and fruit in front of Clint.

“Half of Asgard got to watch bits of my life, I might as well explain it to my team.” Clint said with a sigh. “What do you want to know?” He picked at a small bit of bread and cheese trying to ignore how nothing tasted like much of anything. At his last checkup the docs had shown that the nasal tumors were coming back, messing with his sense of taste and smell.

“Ugh, married? How did we not know this?” Tony put in, waving a slice of bread he was nibbling on.

“Do you discuss all your ex-girlfriends, Stark? I was married, now I’m widowed. Her codename was Mockingbird and she took a bullet for me and died.”

“The man that looked like you.” Steve said picking at a playing card, not seeming to notice he was crumbling the paper like dust between his fingers.

“My brother, Barney. He died.” Clint said sharply, pushing out of his chair and stalking around the room before flopping down next to the fire and starting to breakdown his compound bow, callused fingers testing the tension of the string on autopilot.

“Forget it, we don’t need to know.” Steve said firmly. “The next test is in the morning and we all need to get some sleep. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s fine, Cap. I just… my childhood sucked, hell most of my life I’ve been beaten down or punished for things I didn’t do. I don’t have a lot of good things in my life.” He said with a small broken smile.

“You have us.” Natasha said, setting several weapons cases to one side and laying down several guns. Clint twisted to do a double take at one case.

“Why did you bring my sniper rifle?”

“Who said I did?” She countered with a smirk.

“Always be prepared?” he asked with a small huff of a laugh. Phil walked up and set Clint’s plate down next to him with another goblet of water before pulling out his own guns to start cleaning.

“So… Mockingbird. Have something of a bird fetish, Hawk-butt?” Tony asked gathering up the remaining cards and shuffling with a mocking grin.

“Man, if Barb was here she would be kicking your ass. She had that codename long before we met.”

“She fought with a bow?”

“Staves.” Tony gave a hum of acknowledgement and started dealing the cards to Thor, Steve, and a yawning Bruce. Clint set his bow to the side and took a sip of water before taking a bit of apple or something that looked like it anyway, it was sweet and crisp, reminding him of his original hunger.

“So, the charges the Army had against you…?” Steve asked.

“Dropped. I went straight from the brig to working for Shield. Never went to trial.”

“Good. You weren’t at fault.” Steve said calmly, laying out several cards which made Tony moan in mock disapproval as Bruce snickered quietly at his over the top reaction.

“I have no say in the final outcome but to my eyes you have proven yourself worthy of the golden mead several times over, Eye of the Hawk.” Thor rumbled quietly.

“Thanks, Thor.” Clint said around a bite of meat. Poking Natasha in the side at her eye roll over his lack of manners. “Raised in a circus, Tash.” he pointed out, taking another bite of bread.

“What exactly did you do in the circus beyond the bow thing? Contortionist?” Tony asked with a leer, laying out a flush which Bruce calmly overrode with his hand causing the rest of the players to fold.

“Little bit of everything. I apprenticed under the Swordsman and Trickshot who taught me the bow, sword fighting, sword swallowing, a little hand to hand, and knife throwing. I was small enough that I did some tumbling and trapeze work. Later I moved up to learning how to do silks and aerials once I was older and had gained some muscle. Even did a little strongman work since I was still small for a guy, that was ok. I liked the silks and trapeze work best but no one wants to see a guy do silks if there’s a woman available.”

“Might need to revamp part of the training rooms so that you have somewhere to practice.”

“I doubt I am ever going to use most of it on an op, Stark.”

“Minsk.” Natasha pointed out with a grin.

“Rome.” Phil added.

“New York headquarters that time.”

“Bolivia.”

“That time in Austria.”

“Greece.”

“You guys do know that I hate you right?” Clint muttered shifting so he was laying back in a pile of furs.

“Do we get to hear what happened on any of these ops?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, I mean we have seen you do some insane dismounts from buildings but none of us really get to see you in action during a battle.” Steve pointed out.

“Fine, I am going to regret this but fine, you guys tell them.” Clint said with a small smile, shifting so that he was facing the group. He fell asleep somewhere during the third story where he had used a skill he learned in the circus to either save himself or to save the entire mission.


	35. The Final Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes through the final trial to win the Golden Mead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final chapter to go! Thank you everyone who has been following this Fic, I have been amazed by the support and encouragement.

A test of strength.

noun

  1. the quality or state of being strong, in particular.

  2. a good or beneficial quality or attribute of a person or thing.

  3. "the strengths and weaknesses of their sales and marketing operation" strong point, advantage, asset, forte, aptitude, talent, skill;




 

Clint and the team made their way into the same room as before, taking a spot to one side as they waited on Odin and Frigga to arrive. The team left Clint alone as he stood adjusting the straps on his weapons harness. Natasha and him had already had a long session to stretch out and hopefully ensure he was at his most limber for the fights to come. She was annoyed that he had not been sparring recently but Clint did not trust himself enough to ensure he would not push himself too far when he could not risk an injury.

He tuned out the speech that Odin gave praising the three Asgardians that had been chosen to compete in the trial. The three opponents were the best that Asgard had to offer, which meant all of them were tall and massively muscled, towering over Clint. He used the time to slow his breathing and center his balance; he was still working around a slight tremble in his arms and legs but he had fought with worse, a distinct lack of broken bones and gunshot wounds should make this easy.

Clint stepped into the ring watching as his opponent took several practice swings with a massive hammer.He ignores the jeers of several Asgardians as he stepped forward and gave a quick bow to Odin and to his opponent before dropping into a crouch, his knives hidden against his forearms. He’s going to only get one shot at this. He had no room to toy with his opponents, he couldn’t waste strength when he had two other bouts to the death after this.

His world narrowed to his opponent and the long handled blade he was wielding, more spear than sword. He waited crouched until he came at him, the blade angled to slam into the space he occupied, however he was no longer there. The blade struck with an ear ringing clash of steel on stone, missing by a hair’s breadth but Clint was already moving springing up past the man’s arms, into his reach, one knife sliding between ribs as the second found the soft hollow of a jaw and buried itself to the hilt. Clint sprang out and away in a flip, landing with a second set of knives already drawn as the body slowly listed to one side before collapsing in a pile of loose limbs. The roar of the crowd was deafening as he rose slowly and gave a stiff bow to the body before turning to face the thrones and waiting on the judgement.

 

“A masterful victory, Eye of the Hawk. Are you able to continue to the next bout or would you request a reprieve?”

“I would continue, sir.” Clint said, fighting to keep his breath even and calm, he could feel the way the knives in his hands were shaking in his grip. He needed to finish this before he was forced to do something stupid in order to win, he doubted his body would let him push it as far as he normally would. The next opponent stepped forward and Clint had to repress a grin, it had been far too long since he fought against a sword outside of practice.

“Sir, may I request a moment to change weapons so I might best rise to the challenge of my opponent?”

“You may, however I must insist that projectiles or as you call them guns be left outside of the bout.”

“Of course. Thank you, sir.” Clint said with a small smile and bow to Odin. He quickly moved to the side of the ring where Natasha was already unpacking his gear. He gave her one long knife and accepted the scabbard, drawing the sword and giving a few practice rolls of his wrist before he moved back into the ring, short and long sword at the ready.

“I take it you are proficient in these weapons, Eye of the Hawk?”  
“I am proficient in many weapons, sir.”

“Very well, let the bout commence.”

 

Clint moved toward the center of the ring, a manic grin on his face. It had been too long since he had a good fight with swords, it was not something most villains seemed to master. It was clear after the first few feints that they were fairly evenly matched even if the Asgardian had a longer reach than Clint. It was clear however that this Asgardian was used to polite battles where there were rules against dirty fighting or pain filled attacks, Clint had no such hang up.

Too many fighters focused on their weapons and forgot that they had other parts of their body that were also in the fights. Clint fought with his entire body, tossing elbows, headbuts, lashing out with pommels and the flat of the blade, launching his body airborn to kick out with feet and knees. Clint was a dirty fighter, using every advantage he could. If he grinned at the blood coating his teeth as he made the other man scream when he tried to grab Clint into a headlock and Clint took a chunk out of his arm with his teeth, well, he never said he wasn’t a little off his rocker.

Clint waited until his opponent was getting winded from chasing him around the ring, bleeding from dozens of shallow cuts and one bite mark. He knew the Asgardians appreciated a show, so he would give them one. Parrying the man’s sword he slammed into his open guard, up close and using his braced knee to push off and twist within his arms to drive an elbow into the throat, short sword sliding into his side and slipping free as he vaulted away. Coming back in a rush before he could recover, Clint lashed out taking out one knee with an audible crunch of cartilage.

Stepping back in he rested the point of his sword along the man’s throat. With an oaf the asgardian dropped his sword, raising his hands in surrender. Clint removed his blade, stepping back and again giving a bow to his opponent before he shifted so he could watch both the downed man as he struggled to his feet and Odin.

 

“A well fought bout.” Odin said giving both of them a nod. “Tell me Eye of the Hawk, if I said that all the bouts are to the death would you finish your opponent?”

“If it was demanded I would but it would be a waste of a good fighter.”

“Very well, let us move on to the final bout.”

 

The crowd was again shrouded in darkness as Clint shifted to see his new opponent, a man that was easily seven feet tall, muscular and wielding the largest ax that Clint had ever seen. The final opponent stepped forward as a small pillar was revealed behind him holding a tiny vial of golden liquid. Clint bared his teeth in a bloody grin, he easily danced between ax strikes and snatched up the vial, pocketing it as he turned back to face his attacker.

For such a massive weapon, the man moved it like it was weightless, twisting and reversing his strikes with little notice. Clint fought to keep his shaking legs moving, he was covered in sweat and blood from the razor sharp edge of the ax. The back of his armor lay gapping from a slash that has scored along his lower back, laying the kevlar apart like it was silk. Clint threw himself into a roll to dodge the incoming blade, he did not have the reach to get past the man’s guard. He had used his throwing daggers to wound and even managed to get in several long cuts to the man’s arms and thighs but it was doing nothing to slow the giant down.

He was went to dodge the next thrust only for his legs to finally give out dumping him in a tangle of limbs to the stone floor. He saw the other’s eyes widen and watched as what should have been a feint dug into his chest, laying open his armor and leaving a spray of blood, clipping his right arm and shattering the bone. Clint fought his way to his knees, leaving his swords where they lay and drawing a single dagger with his left hand. He could feel the blood quickly soaking the front of his armor. He had to do this now.

Clint took several breaths, letting everything but his opponent fall away. There was no injury, no Odin, or audience looking on, it was just the two of them fighting to the death. He shifted into a fighting stance, activating the knife, which began to glow an electric blue emitting small sparks. Giving his opponent a bloody grin he was moving, slicing through the haft of the axe with one smooth motion to twist and step inside the man’s reach as he overbalanced without the weight of the ax to brace against. The clean extension of his arm, the screech of the arch knife as it bite through the Asgardian’s neck, the wound cauterizing with a thick smell of burnt flesh. Every detail burned into his memory as Clint finished the motion and came to rest next to the body.

He stood there limbs at the ready as the body finished it’s final fall. He faintly could feel where the vial was digging shards of glass into his hip, shattered when he fell. So much for being saved, he thought was a small grimace. His focus and adrenaline was slowly ebbing away as the blood continued to seep from his wounds. Probably shock, he blinked as the surrounding darkness resolved to show the surrounding crowd and thrones.

To his surprise the body and his wounds also slowly faded, making him stagger back. The wounds might be gone but the exhaustion was there to stay, his entire body suddenly shuddering with reaction as he dropped to hands and knees, fighting to stay upright before the rulers. He saw Natasha make an abortive motion toward him before Thor pulled her back, he had to do this one his own. He fought his way back to his feet as Odin and Frigga dismounted the throne and approached.

 

“Eye of the Hawk, it is rare to find such a skilled fighter outside of our own realm. It is rarer still to find one that is in possession of such honor, courage, and sheer will to survive. You have passed every test placed before you and done so while weak and ill of body.”

 

Clint was very close to cursing the man out. He was barely able to stay standing, his body wracked with tremors, fucking with his balance. If he was all that, then could he please have a fucking chair? On the outside he appeared fine, face blank and body locked into a parade rest that he could and had held for days, only a fine tremor and slight sway betraying him.

 

“I did not pass the final test.” Clint choked, coughing to clear his throat. “The vial shattered.” he said with another slight wince at the memory of feeling the glass biting into him even as the blade laid his chest open.

“If you had drank from the vial then you would have truly failed. It would have healed you partially but it is but a weak version of the mead. By refusing to take your victory until you defeated your opponent you proved yourself truly worthy.” Odin gestured to one side,  two servant’s bringing forward a tray holding a large golden cup. “Come forward and receive your healing, Eye of the Hawk.”

 

Clint wanted to laugh, this was going to hurt. He gritted his teeth and tried to will his legs to unlock. Shakily he managed three steps before he fell, slamming into the stone floor yet again. He snarled to himself as he pulled himself back up and staggered to drop to his knees before Odin and Frigga. Frigga herself came forward and raised the goblet to his lips, waiting patiently for him to drink every drop. The liquid poured golden and thick down his throat, the taste impossibly crisp and sweet, like a perfect summer apple that was still warm from the summer sun and breeze right off the tree.

“Tonight we will feast your healing but for now, let your Avengers take you to rest. The mean must work its way into your system since you are not of Asgard.” The team came forward, Natasha pulling him up to lean against her. Phil moved to his other side as everyone bowed to the royal couple before heading to their rooms. Clint fought to keep a stumbling walk but his partners were more interested in seeing that he was whole then his dignity and he was mostly carried between them.

***


	36. The End.

***

 

Natasha and Phil walked Clint straight into the bathing room and helped him strip. He was shaking too much to really help, fingers numb and everything strangely distant as they cleaned him up and got him into a pair of sleep pants. He was pulled back to bed and into the pile of furs covering it, the rest of the team climbing up to lay down with him and wait. Natasha curled against his back, the soft feel of her fingers stroking down his back and shoulders following him into sleep.

Clint woke from weird dreams full of the scent of apples and golden light, muzzily pulling himself out of the pile of fur and limbs, taking one fur with him to wrap around him until he was in the bathing room. Once he’d relieved his aching bladder he took a shower, hoping the warm water would clear his head. It was like he was drugged, everything seemed fuzzy and unimportant.

Someone had placed clothes in the room for him so he dressed in his standard black Shield uniform minus the weapons before staggering back to bed. He climbed back up, curling up with Natasha as she laughed at him trying to bury his head in her stomach. Tony cursed softly as he worked his way out of the pile to make his own way to the bathroom.

 

“How do you feel?” Bruce asked, claiming one of Clint’s wrist to take his pulse.

“Drunk, everything’s spinning.” Clint murmured, trying to burrow deeper in the furs.

“You look a bit better, not as pale.”

“And your hair has grown out a bit.” Natasha pointed out, tugging at one short locke, it was no longer the peach fuzz that had grown in since his last chemotherapy treatment.

“Good, hate being bald.”

“You might have gained a bit of a tan, you were rather tan when we fought Loki, right?”

“Spent half a year in the desert on Shield missions right before that, kind of hard to stay pale after that much sun.”

“I think the mead is trying to set you back to your “Normal”, is all.”

“Did he just do air quotes?” Clint asked, his sides shaking in nearly silent laughter.

“Yes, he’s drunk.” Natasha said fondly, ruffling his dirty blonde tufts. “Better then the last time, at least.”

“I was tranq darted and I bought you new shoes.” Clint pointed out, poking her in the ribs, blearily watching her with one eye as the other Avengers shifted to more comfortable spots or moved about the room.

“Go back to sleep, Hawk. We will keep watch.”

“Thanks, Tasha.” Clint mumbled, letting himself drift back into the strange warm golden light.

  
  
  


He woke hours later to Natasha stroking his naked back, he had vague memories of her wrestling him out of his clothes at some point. He felt rather good, as the fog cleared from his mind he glanced around the room trying to figure out what had changed. 

He flexed his hands, enjoying the smooth play of muscle over bone. It was strange, his muscles and bones ached ever so slightly like he had pushed himself too hard training but not like an injury. He pulled himself up to stand next to the bed gingerly, the constant dull ache of his head was gone and it left him feeling strangely unbalanced and light after months of constant pain. Scrubbing one hand through his slightly shaggy hair, he made a face at Natasha, he would need a haircut once they got back. She merely gave him an enigmatic smile, letting her gaze slide along his torso and legs.

Clint twitched and glanced down, while he was only wearing boxers, Natasha had seen him in much less. It was the soft golden tan that covered every inch of his skin that made him blink, he had not looked like that since he had been a teenager in the circus. He flexed one hand and felt his body lock into stillness; his scars were gone. The crescent shaped scar from where Barney had bitten his hand in a fight, the small nicks and cuts that covered his forearms and knuckles, the long surgical scars down his legs, they were all gone.  

Suddenly, it was all too much. Clint forced his face to remain blank as he made his way to the bathing room and into the surprisingly modern shower. He turned on the water and collapsed to the rough stone floor letting the water hammer him as he curled around his knees fighting to control his breathing.

The mead had erased his scars, the belt marks on his back, the knife scars from the Swordsman, all the old gunshot wounds, everything. It probably had revamped his skeleton and erased all the breaks and weak spots, magically removed the screws and plates holding his legs together from when the Swordsman broke them when he was a teen. It had unmade him. What if he wasn’t even human anymore? What if it changed him until he was no longer able to recognize himself? He had already been unmade once, he was not keen to repeat that mindfuck.

 

“Clint.” Phil said softly as he settled just outside the spray zone, Natasha strode into the shower and sat down next to him fully clothed. She wrapped one arm around him around his waist leaning against his shoulder in support ignoring the spray drenching her clothes and hair.

“We can run tests once we are back but as best as Bruce can tell the mead just set your body back to it’s peak function in everything. You're not going to change, get taller, or be any different than you ever were. Your metabolism might be a bit more cranked up and your body temperature is a little elevated like Steve’s but like him you are still 100% human.”

“He’s sure?”  
“As much as we can be without blood tests.”

“Won’t change my personality or anything?”

“Not according to Thor. He claims that the mead is like Steve’s serum, it heals and puts you at the peak of health only as your body allows.”

“You are still our Clint.” Natasha added with a small grin. “The annoying brother I never wanted.” Clint gave her a one armed hug, pulling both of them up to stand in the warm water. He gave her a small shove out of the shower before quickly washed off, scrubbing away any trace of his panic and tears. Coming out he took a towel and dried off, exchanging towels for clothes and weapons once Natasha was dried and dressed.

“So the cancer is probably gone?”

“We’ll do tests to confirm.” Phil said with a slight smile.

“Will it come back?” Clint pressed, needing to hear it.

“The mead has never been given to a non-asgardian before.” Phil pointed out gently. They had went over all of this before but Clint wanted to make sure his memories matched. “You are back to your pre-Loki health, as long as you don’t get exposed to the tesseract, you should be safe.”

“Don’t know if I can promise to avoid all the glowing blue rocks considering what we do for a living.”

“Ready for your feast?” Steve asked with a grin as they came out into the main room. The entire team was dressed up for the event. Steve in his old uniform, chest full of metals, Tony and Bruce in suits, Thor in the golden mail and red cape he normally wore, and Clint and Natasha in their uniforms. Clint gave his team a wide smile before walking out to join them, maybe he would be able to last another ten years, fighting alongside his friends and family.


End file.
